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S. G. & E. L. ELBERT 





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21 ©redan Romance. 



The intelligible forms of ancient poets, 

Tiie fair humanities of old religion, 

The Power, the Beauty, and tne Majesty, 

That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain. 

Or forest by slow stream, or peDUiy spring, 

Or chasms and wat'ry depths , all these have vanished— 

They live no longer in the faith of Reason! 

But still, the heart doth need a language — still 

Doth the old instinct bring back the old names. Coleridge. 

A Spirit hung, 
Beautiful region ! o'er thy towns and farms, 
Statues, and temples, and memorial tombs ; 
And emanations were perceived. Wordsworth. 






Entered accm-diiif to Act of Congress, in the year 134^. by 


In the Clerk's Office nf the District Court for the Southern District o<" New-York. 

printed by 

Mtjnrob & Francis, 

Bos t o n. 


JBv. JFrancts, 


To whose Early Influence I owe my Love of Literature, 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries 


This volume is purely romance ; and most read- 
ers will consider it romance of the wildest kind. 
A few kindred spirits, prone to people space "with 
life and mystical predominance," will perceive a 
light within the Grecian Temple. 

For such I have written it. To minds of differ- 
ent mould, who may think an apology necessary 
for what they will deem so utterly useless, I have 
nothing better to offer than the simple fact that I 
found delight in doing it. 



Here let us seek Athense's towers, 
The cradle of old Cecrops' race, 
The world's chief ornament and grace ; 
Here mystic fanes and rites divine, 
And lamps in sacred splendour shine ; 
Here the gods dwell in marble domes, 
Feasted with costly hecatombs, 
That round their votive statues blaze, 
Whilst crowded temples ring with praise ; 
And pompous sacrifices here 
Make holidays throughout the year. 


The moon was moving through the heavens in 
silent glory ; and Athens, with all her beautiful 
variety of villas, altars, statues, and temples, rejoiced 
in the 'hallowed light. 

The white columns of the lofty Parthenon stood 
in distinct relief against the clear blue sky ; the crest 
and spear of Pallas Promachos glittered in the reful- 
gent atmosphere, a beacon to the distant mariner ; 
the line of brazen tripods, leading from the Theatre 
of Dionysus, glowed like urns of fire ; and the waters 
of the Illyssus glanced right joyfully, as they moved 
onward to the ocean. The earth was like a slumber- 
ing babe, smiling in its sleep, because it dreams of 


In the most ancient and quiet part of the city, not 
far from the gate Diocharis, was the modest mansion 
of Anaxagoras ; and at this tranquil hour, the grand- 
daughter of the philosopher, with her beloved com- 
panion Eudora, stood on the roof, enjoying the 
radiant landscape, and the balmy air. 

Philothea's tall figure was a lovely union of ma- 
jesty and grace. The golden hair, which she inher- 
ited from a Laconian mother, was tastefully arranged 
on the top of her head, in a braided crown, over the 
sides of which the bright curls fell, like tendrils of 
grapes from the edge of a basket. The mild brilli- 
ancy of her large dark eyes formed a beautiful con- 
trast to a complexion fair even to transparency. Her 
expression had the innocence of infancy ; but it was 
tinged with something elevated and holy, which 
made it seem like infancy in Heaven. 

Eudora had more sparkling eyes, lips more richly 
coloured, and a form more slender and flexile. Her 
complexion might have seemed dark, had it not been 
relieved by a profusion of glossy black hair, a por- 
tion of which was fastened with a silver arrow, 
while the remainder shaded her forehead, and fell 
over her shoulders. 

As they stood side by side, with their arms twined 
around each other, they were as lovely a sight as the 
moon ever shone upon. Totally unlike each other, 
but both excellent in beauty. One might have been 
a model for the seraphs of Christian faith, the other 
an Olympian deity. 

For a few moments, Philothea stood in earnest si- 
lence, gazing upon the bright planet of evening — 
then, in a tone of deep enthusiasm, she exclaimed : 


"It is a night to feel the presence of the gods ! Vir- 
gin sister of Phoebus, how calm thou art in thy 
glorious beauty ! Thou art filling the world with 
music — silent to the ear, but audible to the heart! 
Phidias has embodied the unbreathing harmony in 
stone, and we worship the fair proportions, as an 
emanation from the gods. The birds feel it — and 
wonder at the tune that makes no noise. The whole 
earth is lulled by its influence. All is motionless; 
save the Naiades of the stream, moving in wreathed 
dance to the voiceless melody. See how their shining 
hair sparkles on the surface of the watefs ! Surely 
there is music in this light ! Eudora, what is it 
within us, that listens where there is no sound? Is 
it thus we shall hear in filysium?" 

In a subdued and troubled voice, her companion 
answered, "Oh, Philothea, when you talk thus, my 
spirit is in fear — and now, too, all is so still and 
bright, that it seems as if the gods themselves were 
listening to our speech." 

" The same mysterious influence impresses me 
with awe," replied the contemplative maiden: " In 
such an hour as this, Plato must have received the 
sublime thought, ' God is truth — and light is his 
shadow.' " 

Eudora drew more closely to her friend, and said, 
timidly : "Oh, Philothea, do not talk of the gods. 
Such discourse has a strange and fearful power, when 
the radiant daughter of Zeus is looking down upon 
us in all her heavenly majesty. Even the midnight 
procession of the Panathensea affected me less 
deeply." . 

After a few moments of serious silence, she con- 


tinued: "I saw it last night, for the first time since 
my childhood; for you know I was very ill when 
the festival was last celebrated. It was truly a 
beautiful and majestic scene ! The virgins all clothed 
in white ; the heifers decorated with garlands ; the 
venerable old men bearing branches of olive ; the 
glittering chariots ; the noble white horses, obeying 
the curb with such proud impatience ; the consecrated 
image of Pallas carried aloft on its bed of flowers ; 
the sacred ship blazing with gems and gold; all 
moving in the light of a thousand torches ! Then 
the music, -so loud and harmonious ! It seemed as 
if all Athens joined in the mighty sound. I distin- 
guished you in the procession; and I almost envied 
you the privilege of embroidering the sacred peplus, 
and being six long months in the service of Pallas 
Athenae. I have had so much to say since you re- 
turned, and Phidias has so many guests, that I have 
found little time to ask concerning the magnificent 
sights you saw within the Acropolis." 

" The night would wear away, ere I could de- 
scribe all I witnessed within the walls of the Parthe- 
non alone," rejoined her companion: "There is the 
silver-footed throne, on which Xerxes sat, while he 
watched the battle of Salamis ; the scimitar of Mar- 
donius, captured at Plataeae ; a beautiful ivory Perse- 
phone, on a pedestal of pure gold ; and a Methym- 
nean lyre, said to have belonged to Terpander him- 
self, who you know was the first that used seven 
strings. Victorious wreaths, coins, rings, and goblets 
of shining gold, are there without number ; and Per- 
sian couches, and Egyptian sphynxes, and — " 

"What do you find so interesting beyond the 


walls?" asked Eudora, smiling at the earnestness 
with which her friend 'gazed in the distance : " Do 
the slaves, bringing water from the Fountain of Cal- 
lirhoe, look so very beautiful in the moonlight?" 

u I marvel that you can speak so lightly," replied 
Philothea : "We have as yet heard no tidings con- 
cerning the decision in the Court of Cynosarges, on 
which the fate of Philsemon depends ; and you know 
how severely his high spirit will suffer, if an unfa- 
vourable sentence is awarded. Neither of us have 
alluded to this painful topic. But why have we thus 
lingered on the house-top, if it were not to watch for 
the group which, if I mistake not, are now approach- 
ing, on their return from Cynosarges?" 

" Then it is for Philsemon's sake, that you have so 
long been looking wistfully toward the Ulyssus?" 
said Eudora, playfully. 

"I will not deny that Paralus has had the largest 
share of my thoughts," replied the simple-hearted 
maiden ; " but for Philsemon, as your betrothed 
lover, and the favourite pupil of my grandfather, I 
feel an interest strong enough to keep me on the 
watch ^during a less delightful evening than this. I 
think it must be Paralus who walks in the centre of 
the group ; we have been separated many months ; 
and courtesy to the numerous strangers under his 
father's roof has prevented our having much dis- 
course to-day. For his sake, I am glad once more 
to be in my own happy home. He is none the less 
dear to me because I know that he can never be my 

"And why should he not?" exclaimed Eudora: 
"The blood of princes flowed in the veins of your 


ancestors. If Anaxagoras is poor, it is because he 
has preferred wisdom to gold*" 

With a faint sigh, Philothea answered, " Had the 
good old man preferred gold to wisdom, I should 
have loved him less ; nor would his instructions have 
made me such a wife as Paralus deserves ; yet Peri- 
cles would have better liked the union. , He has 
obtained from his son a solemn promise never to 
speak to me of marriage. The precaution was un- 
necessary ; for since this new law has passed, I 
would not marry Paralus, even with his father's 
consent. I would never be the means of bringing 
degradation and losses upon him." 

"If you still love Paralus, I wonder you can be so 
quiet and cheerful," said Eudora. 

"I wished him to make the required promise, be- 
cause' obedience to parents is our first duty," replied 
Philothea ; "and had I thought otherwise, the laws 
compel it. But the liberty of loving Paralus, no 
power can take from me; and in that I find sufficient 
happiness. I am bound to him by ties stronger than 
usually bind the hearts of women. My kind grand- 
father has given me an education seldom bestowed 
on daughters ; and from our childhood, Paralus and 
I have shared the same books, the same music, and 
the same thoughts, until our souls seem to be one. 
When I am very happy, I always see a peculiar 
brightness on his countenance ; and when I am pow- 
erfully impressed by any of the fair sights of this 
beautiful world, or by those radiant deities who live 
among the stars, often, before I can speak my 
thoughts, he utters my very words. I sometimes 
think the gods have united human beings by some 


mysterious principle, like the according notes of 
music. Or is it as Plato has supposed, that souls 
originally one have been divided, and each seeks the 
half it has lost? Eudora, if you consider how gene- 
rally maidens are bestowed in marriage without 
consulting their affections, you must confess that 
you have reason to feel deeply grateful for your own 

" Yet this new law against those of foreign parent- 
age, renders marriage with me as dishonourable as 
with you," rejoined the maiden: " Nay, it is much 
more so ; for I am a slave, though, by courtesy, they 
do not call me one." 

" But Philaemon has no parents to forbid his 
choice," said Philothea; "and if the court decide 
against him, he will incur no fine by a marriage 
with you ; for he himself will then be a sojourner in 
Athens. The loss of his paternal estates will indeed 
leave him poor : but he has friends to assist his own 
energies, and in all probability, your union will not 
be long delayed. Ah, now I am certain that Anaxa- 
goras approaches, with Paralus and Philaemon. They 
perceive us; but Paralus does not wave his hand, as 
he promised to do, if they brought good tidings." 

Without appearing to share her anxiety, Eudora 
carelessly inquired, " Did you witness the Festival 
of Torches, while you were within the Acropolis ? 
The swiftness of *he runners, moving in the light of 
their own torches, making statues and temples ruddy 
with the glow as they passed, was truly a beautiful 
sight. I suppose you heard that Alcibiades gained 
the prize ? With what graceful celerity he darted 

through the course ! I was at Aspasia's house ihat 



evening. It is so near the goal, that we could plainly 
see his countenance flushed with excitement and 
exercise, as he stood waving his unextinguished 
torch in triumph." 

"I am sorry Phidias considers improvement in 
music of sufficient consequence to encourage your 
visits to that dangerous woman," answered Philo- 
thea: "It was an unpropitious day for Athens when 
she came here to invest vice with all the allurements 
of beauty and eloquence." 

" I think women should judge kindly of Aspasia's 
faults, and remember that they are greatly exagge- 
rated by her enemies," rejoined Eudora ; "for she 
proves that they are fit for something better than 
mere domestic slaves. Her house is the only one in 
all Greece where women are allowed to be present at 
entertainments. What is the use of a beautiful face, 
if one must be shut up in her own apartment for 
ever ? And what avails skill in music, if there is no 
chance to display it? I confess that I like the cus- 
toms Aspasia is trying to introduce." 

"And I should like them, if I believed they would 
make the Grecian women something better than mere 
domestic slaves," said Philothea ; " but such as As- 
pasia will never raise women out of the bondage in 
which they are placed by the impurity and selfish- 
ness of man. Your own confessions, Eudora, do not 
speak well for her instructions. Why should a true- 
hearted woman wish to display her beautiful face, or 
her skill in music, to any but those on whom her 
affections are bestowed?" 

"It is natural to wish for admiration," replied the 
handsome maiden : " The goddesses themselves con- 


tended for it. You, at least, ought not to judge As- 
pasia harshly ; for she has the idea that you are 
some deity in disguise ; and she has the most extra- 
vagant desire to see you." 

"Flattery to ourselves does not change the nature 
of what is wrong," answered Philothea. " Pericles 
has more than once mentioned Aspasia's wish that I 
should visit her; but nothing short of my grand-fa- 
ther's express command will ever induce me to do 
it. Our friends are now entering' the gate. Let us 
go to welcome them." 

Eudora hastily excused herself under the plea of 
duties at home ; and Philothea, supposing it might 
be painful to meet her unfortunate lover in the pre- 
sence of others, forebore to urge it. 

A paternal blessing beamed from the countenance 
of Anaxagoras, the moment Philothea appeared. Pa- 
ralus greeted her as a brother welcomes a cherished 
sister ; but in the earnest kindness of his glance was 
expressed something more deep and heart-stirring 
than his words implied. 

Philsemon, though more thoughtful than usual, re- 
ceived his own and Eudora' s friend, with cheerful 
cordiality. His countenance had the frank and 
smiling expression of one who truly wishes well to 
all men, and therefore sees everything reflected in 
forms of joy.. His figure was athletic, while his step 
and bearing indicated the promptitude and decision 
of a man who acts spontaneously from his own con- 

Paralus, far from being effeminate, was distin- 
guished for his dexterity and skill in all the manly 
sports of the gymnasium ; but the purity of his com- 


plexion, and the peculiarly spiritual expression of his 
face, would have been deemed beautiful, even in a 
woman. The first he probably derived from his 
mode of life; for, being a strict Pythagorean, he never 
partook of animal food. The last was the transpa- 
rent medium of innocence, through which thoughts 
and affections continually showed their changing 
forms of life. 

In answer to her eager questions, Philothea soon 
learned that her feats had prophesied aright concern- 
ing the decision of the court. Philsemon had been 
unsuccessful ; but the buoyant energy of his character 
did not yield even to temporary despondency. He 
spoke of his enemies without bitterness, and of his 
own prospects with confidence and hope. 

Philothea would have immediately gone to convey 
the tidings to her friend, had not Philemon early 
taken his leave, and passed through the garden into 
the house of Phidias. 

Paralus remained until a late hour, alternately 
talking with the venerable philosopher, and playing 
upon his flute, while Philothea sung the songs they 
had learned together. 

In the course of conversation, Anaxagoras informed 
his child that Pericles particularly urged her attend- 
ance at Aspasia's next symposium. "I obey my 
grandfather, without a question," she replied; "but 
I would much rather avoid this visit, if it were 

"Such is likewise my wish," rejoined the philoso- 
pher; "but Pericles has plainly implied that he should 
be offended by refusal; it is therefore necessary to 
comply with his request." 


The maiden looked doubtingly at her lover, as if 
she deemed his sanction necessary ; and the inquiring 
glance was answered by an affectionate smile. " I 
need not repeat my thoughts and feelings with regard 
to Aspasia," said Paralus, " for you know them well ; 
but for many reasons it is not desirable that an es- 
trangement should take place between my father and 
Anaxagoras. Since, therefore, it has pleased Pericles 
to insist upon it, I think the visit had better be made. 
You need not fear any very alarming innovation 
upon the purity of ancient manners. Even Aspasia 
will reverence you." 

Philothea meekly yielded to the opinion of her 
friends; and it was decided that, on the evening 
after the morrow, she should accompany her grand- 
father to Aspasia' s dwelling. 

Before proceeding farther, it is necessary to relate 
the situation of the several characters introduced in 
this chapter. 

Anaxagoras had been the tutor of Pericles, and 
still retained considerable influence over him; but 
there were times when the straightforward sincerity, 
and uncorhpromising integrity of the old man were 
somewhat offensive and troublesome to his ambitious 
pupil. For the great Athenian statesman, like mod- 
ern politicians, deemed honesty excellent in theory, 
and policy safe in practice. Thus admitting the 
absurd proposition that principles entirely false and 
corrupt in the abstract are more salutary, in their 
practical manifestation, than principles essentially 
good and true. 

While Pericles was determined to profit by diseases 
of the state, the philosopher was anxious to cure 

20 P H I L O T H E A. 

them ; therefore, independently of personal affection 
and gratitude, he was willing to make slight con- 
cessions, in order to retain some influence over his 
illustrious pupil. 

The celebrated Aspasia was an elegant and vo- 
luptuous Ionian, who succeeded admirably in pleas- 
ing the goqd taste of the Athenians, while she minis- 
tered to their vanity and their vices. The wise and 
good lamented the universal depravity of manners, 
sanctioned by her influence ; but a people so gay, so 
ardent, so intensely enamoured of the beautiful, 
readily acknowledged the sway of an eloquent and 
fascinating woman, who carefully preserved the 
appearance of decorum. Like the Gabrielles and 
Pompadours of modern times, Aspasia obtained 
present admiration-dnd future fame, while hundreds 
of better women were neglected and forgotten. The 
crowds' of wealthy and distinguished men who 
gathered around her, were profuse in their flattery, 
and munificent in their gifts ; and Pericles so far 
yielded to her influence, that he divorced his wife 
and married her. 

Philsemon was at that time on terms of intimacy 
with the illustrious orator; and he earnestly re- 
monstrated against this union, as alike disgraceful 
to Pericles and injurious to public morals. By this 
advice he incurred the inveterate dislike of Aspasia ; 
who never rested from her efforts until she had persua- 
ded her husband to procure the revival of an ancient 
law, by which all citizens who married foreigners, 
were subjected to a heavy fine ; and all persons, 
whose parents were not both Athenians, were de- 
clared incapable of voting in the public assemblies, 


or of inheriting the estates of their fathers. Pericles 
the more readily consented to this, because such a 
law at 'once deprived many political enemies of 
power. Philsemon was the son of Chcerilaus, a 
wealthy Athenian; but his mother had been born in 
Corinth, though brought to Athens during childhood. 
It was supposed that this latter circumstance, added 
to the patriotism of his family and his own moral 
excellence, would prevent the application of the law 
in his individual case. But Alcibiades, for reasons 
unknown to the public, united his influence with 
that of Aspasia ; and their partizans were active 
and powerful. When the case was tried in the 
court of illegitimacy at Cynosarges, Philaemon was 
declared a sojourner in Athens, incapable of holding 
any office, and dispossessed of his paternal inherit- 

Eudora was a mere infant when Phidias bought 
her of a poor goatherd in Phelle. The child was 
sitting upon a rock, caressing a kid, when the 
sculptor first saw her, and the gracefulness of her 
attitude attracted his attention, while her innocent 
beauty to'uched his heart. She and her nurse had 
been stolen from the Ionian coast, by Greek pirates. 
The nurse was sold into slavery, and the babe 
delivered by one of the pirates to the care of his 
mother. The little creature, in her lisping way, 
called herself baby Minta ; and this appellation she 
retained, until Phidias gave her the name of Eudora. 

Philothea, the orphan daughter of Alcimenes, son 
of Anaxagoras, was a year or two older than 
Eudora. She was brought to Athens, at about the 
same period ; and as they resided very near each 


other, the habitual intercourse of childhood naturally 
ripened into mature friendship. No interruption of 
this constant intimacy occurred; until Philothea was 
appointed one of the Canephorss, whose duty it was 
to embroider the sacred peplus, and to carry baskets 
in the grand procession of the Panathensea. Six 
months of complete seclusion within the walls of the 
Acropolis, were required of the Canephorse. During 
this protracted absence, Aspasia persuaded Phidias 
to bring Eudora frequently to her house ; and her 
influence insensibly produced a great change in that 
young person, whose character was even more flexile 
than her form. 



" With grace divine her soul is blest, 
And heavenly Pallas breathes within her breast ; 
In wonderous arts than woman more renowned, 
And more than woman with deep wisdom crowned. 


It was the last market hour of Athens, when An- 
axagoras, Philothea, and Eudora, accompanied by 
Geta, the favourite slave of Phidias, stepped forth 
into the street, on their way to Aspasia's residence. 

Loud shouts of laughter came from the agoras, 
and the whole air was filled with the hum of a busy 
multitude. Groups of citizens lingered about the 
porticos ; Egyptians, Medians, Sicilians, and stran- 
gers from all the neighbouring States of Greece, 
thronged the broad avenue of the Pirseus; women, 
carrying upon their heads olive jars, baskets of 
grapes, and vases of water, glided among the crowd, 
with that majestic motion so peculiar to the peasant- 
ry in countries where this custom prevails. 

Philothea drew the folds of her veil more closely, 
and clung timidly to her venerable protector. But 
neither this, nor increasing twilight, could screen 
the graceful maidens from observation. Athenians 
looked back as they passed, and foreigners paused to 
inquire their name and parentage. 

In a few moments they were under the walls of 
the Acropolis, walking in the shadow of the olive 
groves, among god-like statues, to which the gather- 
ing obscurity of evening gave an impressive distinct- 


ness — as if the light departing from the world, stood 
petrified in marble. 

Thence they entered the inner Ceramicus, where 
Aspasia resided. The building, like all the private 
houses of Athens, had a plain exterior, strongly 
contrasted by the magnificence of surrounding 
temples, and porticos. At the gate, an image of 
Hermes looked toward the harbour, while Phoebus, 
leaning on his lyre, appeared to gaze earnestly at the 

A slave, stationed near the door, lighted the way 
to the apartment where Aspasia was reclining, with 
a Doric harp by her side, on which she had just been 
playing. The first emotion she excited was surprise 
at the radiant and lucid expression, which mantled 
her whole face, and made the very blood seem elo- 
quent. In her large dark eye the proud conscious- 
ness of intellect was softened only by melting vo- 
luptuousness; but something of sadness about her 
beautiful mouth gave indication that the heavenly 
part of her nature still struggled with earth-born 

A garland of golden leaves, with large drops of 
pearl, was interwoven among the glossy braids of her 
hair, and rested on her forehead. 

She wore a robe of rich Milesian purple, the folds 
of which were confined on one shoulder within a 
broad ring of gold, curiously wrought ; on the other 
they were fastened by a beautiful cameo, represent- 
ing the head of Pericles. The crimson couch gave a 
soft flush to the cheek and snowy arm that rested on 
it ; and, for a moment, even Philothea yielded to the 
enchantment of her beauty. 


Full of smiles, Aspasia rose and greeted Eudora, 
with the ease and gracefulness of one long accus- 
tomed to homage ; but when the venerable philoso- 
pher introduced his child, she felt the simple purity 
emanating from their characters, and something of 
embarrassment mingled with her respectful salu- 

i Her own face was uncovered, contrary to the cus- 
tom of Grecian women; and after a few of those 
casual remarks which everywhere serve to fill up 
the pauses in conversation, she playfully seized Eu- 
dora' s veil, and threw it back over her shoulders. 
She would have done the same to Philothea ; but the 
maiden placed her hand on the half transparent cov- 
ering, and said, "With your leave, lady, I remain 
veiled.' 1 

'•But 1 cannot give my leave," rejoined Aspasia, 
playfully, still keeping her hold upon the veil: "I 
must see this tyrannical custom done away in the 
free commonwealth of Athens. All the matrons 
who visit my house agree with me in this point ; all 
are willing to renounce the absurd fashion." 

" But in a maiden it would be less seemly," 
answered Philothea. 

Thus resisted, Aspasia appealed to Anaxagoras to 
exert his authority ; adding, in an audible whisper, 
"Phidias has told me that she is as lovely as the 

With a quiet smile, the aged philosopher replied, 
" My child must be guided by her own heart. The 
gods have there placed an oracle, which never 
misleads or perplexes those who listen to it." 

Aspasia continued, " From what I had heard of 


you, Philothea, I expected to find you above the 
narrow prejudices of Grecian women. In you, I was 
sure of a mind strong enough to break the fetters of 
habit. Tell me, my bashful maiden, why is beauty 
given us, unless it be like sunlight to bless and 
gladden the world?" 

"Lady," replied the gentle recluse, "beauty is 
given to remind us that the soul should be kept as 
fair and perfect in its proportions, as the temple in 
which it dwells." 

"You are above ordinary women," said Aspasia; 
" for you hear me allude to your beauty without 
affecting to contradict me, and apparently without 

The sound of voices in earnest conversation 
announced the approach of Pericles with visiters. 
"Come to my room for a few moments," said 
Aspasia, addressing the maidens: "I have just re- 
ceived a magnificent present, which I am sure Eu- 
dora will admire. As she spoke, she led the way to 
an upper apartment. When they opened the door, a 
soft light shone upon them from a lamp, which a 
marble Psyche shaded with her hand, as she bent 
over the couch of Eros. 

"Now that we are quite sure of being uninter- 
rupted, you cannot refuse to raise your veil," said 

Simply and naturally, the maiden did as she was 
desired ; without any emotion of displeasure or ex- 
ultation at the eager curiosity of her hostess. 

For an instant, Aspasia stood rebuked and silent, 
in the presence of that serene and holy beauty. 

With deep feeling she exclaimed, "Maiden, Phid^ 


las spoke truly. Even thus do we imagine the im- 
mortals !" 

A faint blush gleamed on Philothea's face ; for her 
meek spirit was pained by a comparison with things 
divine; but it passed rapidly; and her whole soul 
became absorbed in the lovely statues before her. 

Eudora's speaking glance seemed to say, "I knew 
her beauty would surprise you !" and then, with the 
eager gayety of a little child, she began to examine 
the gorgeous decorations of the room. 

The couch rested on two sphinxes of gold and 
ivory, over which the purple drapery fell in rich and 
massive folds. In one corner, a pedestal of Egyptian 
marble supported an alabaster vase, on the edge of 
which were two doves, exquisitely carved, one just 
raising his head, the other stooping to drink. On a 
similar stand, at the other side, stood a peacock, 
glittering with many coloured gems. The head 
lowered upon the breast formed the handle; while 
here and there, among the brilliant tail feathers, ap- 
peared a languid flame slowly burning away the per- 
fumed oil, with which the bird was filled. 

Eudora clapped her hands, with an exclamation 
of delight. "That is the present of which I spoke," 
said Aspasia, smiling : "It was sent by Artaphernes, 
the Persian, who has lately come to Athens to buy 
pictures and statues for the great king." 

As Philothea turned towards her companion, she 
met Aspasia's earnest gaze. " Had you forgotten 
where you were?" she asked. 

" No, lady, I could not forget that," replied the 
maiden. As she spoke, she hastily withdrew her 
eyes from an immodest picture, on which they had 


accidentally rested ; and, blushing deeply, she added, 
" But there is something so life-like in that slumbei- 
ing marble, that for a moment I almost feared Eu- 
dora would waken it." 

"You will not look upon the picture," rejoined 
Aspasia; "yet it relates a story of one of the gods 
you reverence so highly. I am told you are a 
devout believer in these fables?" 

"When fiction is the robe of truth, I worship it 
for what it covers," replied Philothea; "but I love not 
the degrading fables which poets have made con- 
cerning divine beings. Such were not the gods of 
Solon ; for such the wise and good can never be, in 
this world or another." 

"Then you believe in a future existence?" said 
Aspasia, with an incredulous smile. 

With quiet earnestness, Philothea answered : — 
"Lady, the simple fact that the human soul has 
ever thought of another world, is sufficient proof that 
there is one; for how can an idea be formed by 
mortals, unless it has first existed in the divine 
mind ?" 

"A reader of Plato, I perceive!" exclaimed Aspa- 
sia: " They told me I should find you pure and 
child-like; with a soul from which poetry sparkled, 
like moonlight on the waters. I did not know that 
wisdom and philosophy lay concealed in its depths." 

" Is there any other wisdom, than true simplicity 
and innocence?" asked the maiden. 

With a look of delighted interest, Aspasia took her 
arm familiarly ; saying, " You and I must be friends. 
I shall not grow weary of you, as I do of other 
women. Not of you, dearest," she added in an 


under tone, tapping Eudora's cheek. "You must 
come here constantly, Philothea. Though I am 
aware," continued she, smiling, "that it is bad 
policy for me to seek a guest who will be sure to 
eclipse me." 

"Pardon me, lady," said Philothea, gently disen- 
gaging herself: " Friendship cannot be without sym- 

A sudden flush of anger suffused Aspasia' s counte- 
nance; and Eudora looked imploringly at her friend, 
as she said, "You love me, Philothea; and I am 
sure we are very different." 

"I crave pardon," interrupted Aspasia, with haugh- 
ty impatience. "I should have remembered that the 
conversation prized by Pericles and Plato, might ap- 
pear contemptible, to this youthful Pallas, who so 
proudly seeks to conceal her precious wisdom from 
ears profane." 

" Lady, you mistake me," answered Philothea, 
mildly: "Your intellect, your knowledge, are as far 
above mine, as the radiant stars are above the flowers 
of the field.' Besides, I never felt contempt for any- 
thing to which the gods had given life. It is impos- 
sible for me to despise you; but I pity you." 

"Pity!" exclaimed Aspasia, in a piercing tone, 
which made both the maidens start. " Am I not the 
wife of Pericles, and the friend of Plato ? Has not 
Phidias modelled his Aphrodite from my form? Is 
there in all Greece a poet who has not sung my 
praises? Is there an artist who has not paid me 
tribute ? Phoenicia sends me her most splendid 
manufactures and her choicest slaves ; Egypt brings 
her finest linen and her metals of curious workman- 


ship ; while Persia unrolls her silks, and pours out 
her gems at my feet. To the remotest period of 
time, the world, — aye, the world, — maiden, will hear 
of Aspasia, the beautiful and the gifted !" 

For a moment, Philothea looked on her, silently 
and meekly, as she stood with folded arms, flushed 
brow, and proudly arched neck. Then, in a soft, 
sad voice, she answered : " Aye, lady — but will your 
spirit hear the echo of your fame, as it rolls back 
from the now silent shores of distant ages?" 

"You utter nonsense!" said Aspasia, abruptly: 
" There is no immortality but fame. In history, the 
star of my existence will never set — but shine bril- 
liantly and forever in the midst of its most glorious 
constellation !" 

After a brief pause, Philothea resumed: "But 
when men talk of Aspasia the beautiful and the 
gifted, will they add, Aspasia the good — the happy — 
the innocent?" 

The last word was spoken in a low, emphatic 
tone. A slight quivering about Aspasia' s lips be- 
trayed emotion crowded back upon the heart ; while 
Eudora bowed her head, in silent confusion, at the 
bold admonition of her friend. 

With impressive kindness, the maiden continued : 
"Daughter of Axiochus, do you never suspect that 
the homage you receive is half made up of selfish- 
ness and impurity ? This boasted power of intellect 
-—this giddy triumph of beauty — what do they do 
for you ? Do they make you happy in the commu- 
nion of your own heart? Do they bring you nearer 
to the gods? Do they make the memory of your 
childhood a gladness, or a sorrow?" 



Aspasia sank on the couch, and bowed her head 
upon her hands. For a few moments, the tears 
might be seen stealing through her fingers; while 
Eudora, with the ready sympathy of a warm heart, 
sobbed aloud. 

Aspasia soon recovered her composure. "Philo- 
thea," she said, "you have spoken to me as no one 
ever dared to speak ; but my own heart has some- 
times uttered the truth less mildly. Yesterday 1 
learned the same lesson from a harsher voice. A 
Corinthian sailor pointed at this house, and said, 
' There dwells Aspasia, the courtezan, who makes 
her wealth by the corruption of Athens P My very 
blood boiled in my veins, that such an one as he 
could give me pain. It is true the illustrious Peri- 
cles has made me his wife ; but there are things 
which even his power, and my own allurements, fail 
to procure. Ambitious women do indeed come here 
to learn how to be distinguished ; and the vain come 
to study the fashion of my garments, and the newest 
braid of my hair. But the purest and best matrons 
of Greece refuse to be my guests. You, PhiJothea, 
came reluctantly — and because Pericles would have 
it so. Yes," she added, the tears again starting to 
her eyes — " I know the price at which I purchase 
celebrity. Poets will sing of me at feasts, and ora- 
tors describe me at the games ; but what will that 
be to me, when I have gone into the silent tomb 7 
Like the lifeless guest at Egyptian tables, Aspasia 
will be all unconscious of the garlands she wears. 

"Philothea, you think me vain, and heartless, and 
wicked; and so I am. But there are moments when 
I am willing that this tongue, so praised for its elo- 


quence, should be dumb forever — that this beauty, 
which men worship, should be hidden in the deepest 
recesses of barbarian forests — so that I might again 
be as I was, when the sky was clothed in perpetual 
glory, and the earth wore not so sad a smile as now. 
Oh, Philothea! would to the gods, I had your purity 
and goodness ! But you despise me ; — for you are 

Soothingly, and almost tearfully, the maiden re- 
plied : " No, lady; such were not the feelings which 
made me say we could not be friends. It is because 
we have chosen different paths; and paths that 
never approach each other. What to you seem idle 
dreams, are to me sublime realities, for which I 
would gladly exchange all that you prize in exist- 
ence. You live for immortality in this world; I 
live for immortality in another. The public voice is 
your oracle ; I listen to the whisperings of the gods 
in the stillness of my own heart; and never yet, dear 
lady, have those two oracles spoken the same lan- 

Then falling on her knees, and looking up earnest- 
ly, she exclaimed, " Beautiful and gifted one ! Lis- 
ten to the voice that tries to win you back to inno- 
cence and truth ! Give your heart up to it, as a lit- 
tle child led by its mother's hand ! Then shall the 
flowers again breathe poetry, and the stars move in 

"It is too late," murmured Aspasia: "The flow- 
ers are scorched — the stars are clouded. I cannot 
again be as I have been." 

"Lady, it is never too late," replied Philothea: 
c * You have unbounded influence — use it nobly ! No 


longer seek popularity by flattering the vanity, or 
ministering to the passions of the Athenians. Let 
young men hear the praise of virtue from the lips of 
beauty. Let them see religion married to immortal 
genius. Tell them it is ignoble to barter the heart's 
wealth for heaps of coin — that love weaves a simple 
wreath of his own bright hopes, stronger than mass- 
ive chains of gold. Urge Pericles to prize the good 
of Athens more than the applause of its populace — 
to value the permanence of her free institutions more 
than the splendour of her edifices. Oh, lady, never, 
never, had any mortal such power to do good !" 

Aspasia sat gazing intently on the beautiful speak- 
er, whose tones grew more and more earnest as she 

"Philothea," she replied, " you have moved me 
strangely. There is about you an influence that 
cannot be resisted. It is like what Pindar says of 
music ; if it does not give delight, it is sure to agitate 
and oppress the heart. From the first moment you 
spoke, I have felt this mysterious power. It is as if 
some superior being led me back, even against my 
will, to the days of my childhood, when I gathered 
acorns from the ancient oak that shadows the foun- 
tain of Byblis. or ran about on the banks of my own 
beloved Meander, filling my robe with flowers." 

There was silence for a moment. Eudora smiled 
through her tears, as she whispered, "Now, Philo- 
thea, sing that sweet song Anaxagoras taught you. 
He too is of Ionia ; and Aspasia will love to hear it." 

The maiden answered with a gentle smile, and 
began to warble the first notes of a simple bird-like 


" Hush !" said Aspasia, putting her hand on Phi- 
lothea's mouth, and bursting into tears — "It was the 
first tune I ever learned ; and I have not heard it 
since my mother sung it to me." 

" Then let me sing it, lady," rejoined Philothea : 
" It is good for us to keep near our childhood. In 
leaving it, we wander from the gods." 

A slight tap at the door made Aspasia start up 
suddenly; and stooping over the alabaster vase of 
water, she hastened to remove all traces of her tears. 

As Eudora opened the door, a Byzantian slave 
bowed low, and waited permission to speak. 

"Your message?" said Aspasia, with queenly 

"If it please you, lady, my master bids me say 
he desires your presence." 

"We come directly," she replied; and with an- 
other low bow, the Byzantian closed the door. 

Before a mirror of polished steel, supported by 
ivory Graces, Aspasia paused to adjust the folds of 
her robe, and replace a curl that had strayed from 
its golden fillet. 

As she passed, she continued to look back at the 
reflection of her own fair form, with a proud glance, 
which seemed to say, " Aspasia is herself again !" 

Philothea took Eudora's arm, and folding her veil 
about her, with a deep sigh followed to the room 



All is prepared — the table and the feast — 

With clue appurtenauce of clothes and cushions. 

Chaplets and dainties of all kinds abound : 

Here rich perfumes are seen — there cakes and cates 

Of every fashion ; cakes of honey, cakes 

Of sesamum, and cakes of unground corn. 

What more ? A troop of dancing women fair, 

And minstrels who may chaunt us sweet Harmodius. 


The room in which the guests were assembled, 
was furnished with less of Asiatic splendour than 
the private apartment of Aspasia • but in its magnifi- 
cent simplicity there was a more perfect manifesta- 
tion of ideal beauty. It was divided in the middle 
by eight Ionic columns, alternately of Phrygian and 
Pentelic marble. Between the central pillars stood a 
superb statue from the hand of Phidias, representing 
Aphrodite guided by Love, and crowned by Peitho, god- 
dess of Persuasion. Around the walls were Phoebus 
and Hermes in Parian marble, and the nine Muses in 
ivory. A fountain of perfumed water, from the ad- 
joining room, diffused coolness and fragrance, as it 
passed through a number of concealed pipes, and 
finally flowed into a magnificent vase, supported by 
a troop of Naiades. 

In a recess stood the famous lion of Myron, sur- 
rounded by infant Loves, playing with his paws, 
climbing his back, and decorating his neck with gar- 
lands. This beautiful group seemed actually to live 
and move in the clear light and deep shadows derived 
from a silver lamp suspended above. 


The walls were enriched with some of the choicest 
paintings of Apollodorus, Zeuxis, and Polygnotus. 
Near a fine likeness of Pericles, by Aristolaiis, was 
Aspasia, represented as Chloris scattering flowers 
over the earth, and attended by winged Hours. 

It chanced that Pericles himself reclined beneath 
his portrait, and though political anxiety had taken 
from his countenance something of the cheerful fresh- 
ness which characterized the picture, he still retained 
the same elevated beauty — the same deep, quiet ex- 
pression of intellectual power. At a short distance, 
with his arm resting on the couch, stood his nephew 
Alcibiades, deservedly called the handsomest man in 
Athens. He was laughing with Hermippus, the 
comic writer, whose shrewd, sarcastic and mischiev- 
ous face was expressive of his calling. Phidias 
slowly paced the room, talking of the current news 
with the Persian Artaphernes. Anaxagoras reclined 
near the statue of Aphrodite, listening and occasion- 
ally speaking to Plato, who leaned against one of the 
marble pillars, in earnest conversation with a learned 

The gorgeous apparel of the Asiatic and African 
guests, contrasted strongly with the graceful sim- 
plicity of Grecian costume. A saffron-coloured man- 
tle and a richly embroidered Median vest glittered 
on the person of the venerable Artaphernes. Ti- 
thonus, the Ethiopian, wore a skirt of ample folds, 
which scarcely fell below the knee. It was of the 
glorious Tyrian hue, resembling a crimson light 
shining through transparent purple. The edge of 
the garment was curiously wrought with golden 
palm leaves. It terminated at the waist in a large 


roll, twined with massive chains of gold, and fast- 
ened by a clasp of the far-famed Ethiopian topaz. 
The upper part of his person was uncovered and un- 
ornamented, save by broad bracelets of gold, which 
formed a magnificent contrast with the sable colour 
of his vigorous and finely-proportioned limbs. 

As the ladies entered, the various groups came 
forward to meet them; and all were welcomed by 
Aspasia with earnest cordiality and graceful self-pos- 
session. While the brief salutations were passing, 
Hipparete, the wife of Alcibiades came from an inner 
apartment, where she had been waiting for her 
hostess. She was a fair, amiable young matron, 
evidently conscious of her high rank. The short 
blue tunic, which she wore over a lemon-coloured 
robe, was embroidered with golden grasshoppers; 
and on her forehead sparkled a jewelled insect of the 
same species. It was the emblem of unmixed Athe- 
nian blood; and Hipparete alone, of all the ladies 
present, had a right to wear it. Her manners were 
an elaborate copy of Aspasia; but deprived of the 
powerful charm of unconsciousness, which flowed 
like a principle of life into every motion of that 
beautiful enchantress. 

The momentary silence, so apt to follow introduc- 
tions, was interrupted by an Ethiopian boy, who, at 
a signal from Tithonus, emerged from behind the 
columns, and kneeling, presented to Aspasia a beau- 
tiful box of ivory, inlaid with gold, filled with the 
choicest perfumes. The lady acknowledged the 
costly offering by a gracious smile, and a low bend 
of the head toward the giver. 

The ivory was wrought with exquisite skill, rep- 


resenting the imaginary forms of the constellations, 
studded with golden stars. The whole rested on a 
golden image of Atlas, bending beneath the weight. 
The box was passed from hand to hand, and excited 
universal admiration. 

" Were these figures carved by an artist of your 
own country?" asked Phidias. 

With a smile, Tithonus replied, u You ask the 
question because you see a Grecian spirit in those 
forms. They were indeed fashioned by an Ethio- 
pian; but one who had long resided in Athens." 

" There is truly a freedom and variety in these 
figures, which I have rarely seen even in Greece," 
rejoined Phidias ; " and I have never met with those 
characteristics in Ethiopian or Egyptian workman- 

"They belong not to the genius of those coun- 
tries," answered Tithonus: "Philosophy and the 
arts are but a manifestation of the intelligible ideas 
that move the public mind ; and thus they become 
visible images of the nations whence they emanate. 
The philosophy of the East is misty and vast — with 
a gleam of truth here and there, resting like sunlight 
on the edge of a dark and mighty cloud. Hence, our 
architecture and statuary is massive and of immense 
proportions. Greece is free — therefore she has a 
philosopher, who sees that every idea must have a 
form, and in every form discovers its appropriate 
life. And because philosophy has perceived that the 
principle of vitality and beauty flows from the divine 
mind into each and every earthly thing, therefore 
Greece has a sculptor, who can mould his thoughts 
into marble forms, from which the free grandeur of 


the soul emanates like a perpetual presence." As 
he spoke, he bowed low to Plato and Phidias. 

u The gigantic statues of Sicily have fair propor- 
tions," said Plato ; " and they have life ; but it is life 
in deep repose. There is the vastness of eternity, 
without the activity of time." 

" The most ancient statuary of all nations is an 
image of death ; not of sleeping energy," observed 
Aspasia. " The arms adhere rigidly to the sides, the 
feet form one block; and even in the face, the divine 
ideal seems struggling hard to enter the reluctant 
form. But thanks to Pygmalion of Cyprus, we now 
have the visible impress of every passion carved in 
stone. The spirit of beauty now flows freely into 
the harmonious proportions, even as the oracle is 
rilled by the inspiration of the god. Now the foot 
bounds from the pedestal, the finger points to the 
stars, and life breathes from every limb. But in 
good time the Lybian pipe warns us that the feast is 
ready. We must not soar too far above the earth, 
while she offers us the rich treasures of her fruit- 
trees and vines." 

" Yet it is ever thus, when Plato is with us," ex- 
claimed Pericles. u He walks with his head among 
the stars — and, by a magic influence, we rise to his 
elevation, until we perceive the shadows of majestic 
worlds, known in their reality only to the gods. As 
the approach of Phoebus fills the priestess with pro- 
phecy, so does this son of Phoebus impart something 
of his own eloquence to all who come within its 

"You speak truly, O Pericles," replied Tithonus ; 
u but it is a truth felt only by those who are in some 


measure worthy to receive it. Aspasia said wisely, 
that the spirit of beauty flows in, only where the 
proportions are harmonious. The gods are ever 
with us, but few feel the presence of the gods." 

Philothea, speaking in a low tone to Eudora, 
added, "And Plato rejoices in their glorious pres- 
ence, not only because he walks with his head 
among the stars, but because he carries in his heart 
a blessing for every little child." 

These words, though spoken almost in a whisper, 
reached the ear of the philosopher himself; and he 
turned toward the lovely speaker with a beaming 
glance, which distinctly told that his choicest bless- 
ings were bestowed upon spirits pure and gentle as 
her own. 

Thus conversing, the guests passed between the 
marble columns, and entered that part of the room 
where the banquet was prepared. Aspasia filled a 
golden basket with Athenian olives, Phoenician dates, 
and almonds of Naxos, and whispering a brief invo- 
cation, placed it on a small altar, before an ivory 
image of Demeter, which stood in the midst of the 
table. Seats covered with crimson cloth were ar- 
ranged at the end of the couches, for the accommo- 
dation of women; but the men reclined in Asiatic 
fashion, while beautiful damsels sprinkled perfumes 
on their heads, and offered water for their hands in 
vases of silver. 

In choosing one to preside over the festivities of 
the evening, the lot fell upon Tithonus; but he 
gracefully declined the office, saying it properly be- 
longed to an Athenian,, 


" Then I must insist that you appoint your suc- 
cessor," said Aspasia. 

"Your command partakes little of the democracy 
of Athenian institutions," answered he, smiling ; 
"but I obey it cheerfully; and will, as most fitting, 
crown the wisest." He arose, as he spoke, and rev- 
erently placed the chaplet on the head of Plato. 

"I will transfer it to the most beautiful," rejoined 
the philosopher ; and he attempted to place the gar- 
land on the brow of Alcibiades. But the young man 
prevented him, and exclaimed, " Nay — according to 
your own doctrines, O admirable Plato, wisdom 
should wear the crown ; since beauty is but its out- 
ward form." 

Thus urged, Plato accepted the honours of the 
banquet ; and taking a handful of garlands from the 
golden urn on which they were suspended, he pro- 
ceeded to crown the guests. He first placed upon 
Aspasia' s head a wreath of bright and variegated 
flowers, among which the rose and the myrtle were 
most conspicuous. Upon Hipparete he bestowed a 
coronal of violets, regarded by the proud Athenians 
as their own peculiar flower. Philothea received a 
crown of pure white lilies. 

Aspasia, observing this, exclaimed, " Tell me, O 
Plato, how you knew that wreath, above all the 
others, was woven for the grand-daughter of Anax- 

" When I hear a note of music, can I not at once 
strike its chord?" answered the philosopher : " Even 
as surely is there an everlasting harmony between 
the soul of man and the visible forms of creation. If 

42 PH1L0THEA. 

there were no innocent hearts, there would be no 
white lilies." 

A shadow passed over Aspasia's expressive counte- 
nance ; for she was aware that her own brilliant 
wreath contained not one purely white blossom. 
But her features had been well-trained to conceal 
her sentiments; and her usual vivacity instantly 

The remainder of the garlands were bestowed so 
rapidly, that there seemed scarcely time for delibe- 
rate choice ; yet Pericles wore the oak leaves sacred 
to Zeus ; and the laurel and olive of Phoebus rested 
on the brow of Phidias. 

A half mischievous smile played round Aspasia's 
lips, when she saw the wreath of ivy and grape 
leaves placed on the head of Alcibiades. "Son of 
Aristo," she exclaimed, " the Phoenician Magii have 
given you good skill in divination. You have be- 
stowed every garland appropriately." 

"It needed little magic," replied Plato, "'to know 
that the oaken leaves belonged to one whose elo- 
quence is so often called Olympian ; or that the lau- 
rel was due to him who fashioned Pallas Parthenia ; 
and Alcibiades would no doubt contend boldly with 
any man who professed to worship the god of vine- 
yards with more zeal than himself." 

The gay Athenian answered this challenge by 
singing part of an Anacreontic ode, often repeated 
during the festivities of the Dionysia : 

" To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine, 
As if to-morrow ne'er should shine ; 
But if to-morrow comes, why then — 
I'll haste to quaff my wine again. 


For death may come with brow unpleasant — 
May come when least we wish him present, 
And beckon to the sable shore, 
And grimly bid us — drink no more !" 

This profane song was sung in a voice so clear and 
melodious, that Tithonus exclaimed, "You err, O 
Plato, in saying the tuneful soul of Marsyas has 
passed into the nightingale ; for surely it remains 
with this young Athenian. Son of Clinias, you 
must be well skilled in playing upon the flute the 
divine airs of Mysian Olympus'?" 

" Not I, so help me Dionysus ! " lisped Alcibiades. 
" My music master will tell you that I e*ver went to 
my pipes reluctantly. I make ten sacrifices to eques- 
trian Poseidon, where I offer one gift to the Parnas- 
sian chorus." 

"Stranger, thou hast not yet learned the fashions 
of Athens," said Anaxagoras, gravely. " Our young 
equestrians now busy themselves with carved cha- 
riots, and Persian mantles of the newest mode. They 
vie with each other in costly wines ; train doves to 
shower luxuriant perfumes from their wings; and 
upon the issue of a contest between fighting quails, 
they stake sums large enough to endow a princess. 
To play upon the silver-voiced flute is Theban-like 
and vulgar. They leave that to their slaves." 

"And why not leave laughter to the slaves?" 
asked Hermippus; "since anything more than a 
graceful smile distorts the beauty of the features ? I 
suppose bright eyes would weep in Athens, should 
the cheeks of Alcibiades be seen puffed out with vul- 
gar wind-instruments." 

" And can you expect the youth of Athens to be 
4* t 


wiser than their gods?" rejoined Aspasia. "Pallas 
threw away her favourite flute, because Hera and 
Aphrodite laughed at her distorted countenance while 
she played upon it. It was but a womanly trick in 
the virgin daughter of Zeus." 

Tithonus looked at the speaker with a slight ex- 
pression of surprise ; which Hermippus perceiving, 
he thus addressed him, in a cool, ironical tone : " O 
Ethiopian stranger, it is evident you know little of 
Athens ; or you would have perceived that a belief 
in the gods is more vulgar than flute-playing. Such 
trash is deemed fit for the imbecility of the aged, and 
the ignoraiace of the populace. With equestrians 
and philosophers, it is out of date. You must seek 
for it among those who sell fish at the gates ; or with 
the sailors at Pirssus and Phalerum." 

"I have visited the Temple of Poseidon, in the 
Pirseus," observed Aspasia; "and I saw there a 
multitude of offerings from those who had escaped 
shipwreck." She paused slightly, and added, with 
a significant smile, " But I perceived no paintings of 
those who had been wrecked, notwithstanding their 
supplications to the god." 

As she spoke, she observed that Pericles withdrew 
a rose from the garland wherewith his cup was 
crowned ; and though the action was so slight as to 
pass unobserved by others, she instantly understood 
the caution he intended to convey by that emblem 
sacred to the god of silence. 

At a signal from Plato, slaves filled the goblets 
with wine, and he rose to propose the usual libation 
to the gods. Every Grecian guest joined in the cere- 
mony, singing in a recitative tone : 


Dionysus, this to thee, 

God of warm festivity ! 

Giver of the fruitful vine, 

To thee we pour the rosy wine! 

Music, from the adjoining room, struck in with the 
chorus, and continued for some moments after it had 

For a short time, the conversation was confined to 
the courtesies of the table, as the guests partook of 
the delicious viands before them. Plato ate olives 
and bread only ; and the water he drank was scarcely 
tinged with Lesbian wine. Alcibiades rallied him 
upon this abstemiousness; and Pericles remind- 
ed him that even his great pattern, Socrates, gave 
Dionysus his dues, while he worshipped the heaven- 
born Pallas. 

The philosopher quietly replied, li I can worship 
the fiery God of Vintage only when married with 
Nymphs of the Fountain." 

" But tell me, O Anaxagoras and Plato," exclaim- 
ed Tithonus, "if, as Hermippus hath said, the Gre- 
cian philosophers discard the theology of the poets 1 
Do ye not believe in the Gods?" 

Plato would have smiled, had he not reverenced 
the simplicity that expected a frank and honest an- 
swer to a question so dangerous. Anaxagoras briefly 
replied, that the mind which did not believe in di- 
vine beings, must be cold and dark indeed. 

" Even so," replied Artiphernes, devoutly ; " bless- 
ed be Oromasdes, who sends Mithras to warm and 
enlighten the world ! But what surprises me most 
is, that you Grecians import new divinities from other 
countries, as freely as slaves, or papyrus, or marble. 


The sculptor of the gods will scarcely be able to 
fashion half their images." 

"If the custom continues," rejoined Phidias, "it 
will indeed require a life-time as long as that con- 
ferred upon the namesake of Tithonus." 

" Thanks to the munificence of artists, every deity 
has a representative in my dwelling," observed As- 

" I have heard strangers express their surprise that 
the Athenians have never erected a statue to the 
principle of Modesty" said Hermippus. 

" So much the more need that we enshrine her 
image in our own hearts," rejoined Plato. 

The sarcastic comedian made no reply to this 
quiet rebuke. Looking toward Artaphernes, he con- 
tinued : " Tell me, O servant of the great king, 
wherein the people of your country are more wise 
in worshipping the sun, than we who represent the 
same divinity in marble !" 

" The principles of the Persian religion are simple, 
steady, and uniform," replied Artaphernes; "but 
the Athenian are always changing. You not only 
adopt foreign gods, but sometimes create new ones, 
and admit them into your theology by solemn act of 
the great council. These circumstances have led 
me to suppose that you worship them as mere forms. 
The Persian Magii do indeed prostrate, themselves 
before the rising Sun ; but they do it in the name of 
Oromasdes, the universal Principle of Good, of whom 
that great luminary is the visible symbol. In our 
solemn processions, the chariot sacred to Oromasdes 
precedes the horse dedicated to Mithras ; and there 
is deep meaning in the arrangement. The Sun and 


Zodiac, the Balance and the Rule, are but emblems 
of truths, mysterious and eternal. As the garlands 
we throw on the sacred fire feed the flame, rather 
than extinguish it, so the sublime symbols of our re- 
ligion are intended to preserve, not to conceal, the 
truths within them." 

" Though you disclaim all images of divinity," 
rejoined Aspasia, " yet we hear of your Mithras 
pictured like a Persian King, trampling on a pros- 
trate ox." 

With a smile, Artaphernes replied, " I see, lady, 
that you would fain gain admittance to the Mithraic 
cave ; but its secrets, like those of your own Eleusis, 
are concealed from all save the initiated." 

" They tell us," said Aspasia, "that, those who 
are admitted to the Eleusinian mysteries die in 
peace, and go directly to the Elysian fields ; while 
the uninitiated wander about in the infernal abyss." 

" Of course," said Anaxagoras, " Alcibiades will 
go directly to Elysium, though Solon groped his way 
in darkness." 

The old philosopher uttered this with imperturba- 
ble gravity, as if unconscious of satirical meaning ; 
but some of the guests could scarcely repress a smile, 
as they recollected the dissolute life of the young 

"If Alcibiades spoke his real sentiments," said 
Aspasia, "I venture to say he would tell us that the 
mystic baskets of Demeter, covered with long pur- 
ple veils, contain nothing half so much worth seeing, 
as the beautiful maidens who carry them." 

She looked at Pericles, and saw that he again 


cautioned her, by raising the rose toward his face, 
as if inhaling its fragrance. 

There was a brief pause, which Anaxagoras inter- 
rupted, by saying, " The wise can never reverence 
images merely as images. There is a mystical mean- 
ing in the Athenian manner of supplicating the gods 
with garlands on their heads, and bearing in their 
hands boughs of olive twined with wool. Pallas, at 
whose birth we are told gold rained upon the earth, 
was unquestionably a personification of wisdom. It 
is not to be supposed that the philosophers of our 
country consider the sun itself as anything more than 
a huge ball of fire ; but the sight of that glorious orb 
leads the contemplative soul to the belief in one Pure 
Intelligence, one Universal Mind, which in manifest- 
ing itself produces order in the material world, and 
preserves the unconfused distinction of infinite va- 

" Such, no doubt, is the tendency of all reflecting 
minds," said Phidias; "but in general, the mere 
forms are worshipped, apart from the sacred truths 
they represent. The gods we have introduced from 
Egypt are regarded by the priests of that learned 
land as emblems of certain divine truths brought 
down from ancient times. They are like the Hermse 
at our doors, which outwardly appear to rest on in- 
expressive blocks of stone ; but when opened, they 
are found to contain beautiful statues of the gods 
within them. It is not so with the new fables which 
the Greeks are continually mixing with their mytho- 
logy. Pygmalion, as we all know, first departed 
from the rigid outline of ancient sculpture, and im- 
pressed life and motion upon marble. The poets, in 


praise of him, have told us that his ardent wishes 
warmed a statue into a lovely and breathing woman. 
The fable is fanciful and pleasing in itself; bat will 
it not hereafter be believed as reality? Might not 
the same history be told of much that is believed? 
It is true," added he, smiling, " that I might be ex- 
cused for favouring a belief in images, since mortals 
are ever willing to have their own works adored." 

" What ! does Plato respond to the inquiries of 
Phidias?" asked Artaphernes. 

The philosopher replied: " Within the holy mys- 
teries of our religion is preserved a pure and deep 
meaning, as the waters of Arethusa flow uncontam- 
inated beneath the earth and the sea. I do not pre- 
sume to decide whether all that is believed has the 
inward significancy. I have ever deemed such spe- 
culations unwise. If the chaste daughter of Latona 
always appears to my thoughts veiled in heavenly 
purity, it is comparatively unimportant whether I 
can prove that Acteon was torn by his dogs, for 
looking on the goddess with wanton eyes. Anaxa- 
goras, said wisely that material forms lead the con- 
templative mind to the worship of ideal good, which 
is in its nature immortal and divine. Homer tells 
us that the golden chain resting upon Olympus 
reaches even to the earth. Here we see but a few 
of the last links, and those imperfectly. We are like 
men in a subterranean cave, so chained that they 
can look only forward to the entrance. Far above 
and behind us is a glowing fire : and beautiful 
beings, of every form, are moving between the light 
and us poor fettered mortals. Some of these bright 
beings are speaking, and others are silent. We see 


only the shadows cast on the opposite wall of the 
cavern, by the reflection of the fire above; and if we 
hear the echo of voices, we suppose it belongs to 
those passing shadows. The soul, in its present con- 
dition, is an exile from the orb of light ; its ignorance 
is forgetfulness ; and whatever we can perceive of 
truth, or imagine of beauty, is but a reminiscence of 
our former more glorious state of being. He who 
reverences the gods, and subdues his own passions, 
returns at last to the blest condition from which he 
fell. But to talk, or think, about these things with 
proud impatience, or polluted morals, is like pouring 
pure water into a miry trench ; he who does it dis- 
turbs the mud, and thus causes the clear water to 
become defiled. When Odysseus removed his ar- 
mour from the walls, and carried it to an inner 
apartment, invisible Pallas moved before him with 
her golden lamp, and filled the place with radiance 
divine. Telemachus, seeing the light, exclaimed, 
'Surely, my father, some of the celestial gods are 
present.' With deep wisdom, the king of Jthaca re- 
plied, 'Be silent. Restrain your intellect, and speak 
not.' " * 

" I am rebuked, O Plato," answered Phidias ; 
" and from henceforth, when my mind is dark and 
doubtful, I will remember that transparent drops 
may fall into a turbid well. Nor will I forget that 
sometimes, when I have worked on my statues by 
torch-light, I could not perceive their real expression, 
because I was carving in the shadow of my own 

" Little can be learned of the human soul, and its 
connection with the Universal Mind," said Anax- 


agoras : " These sublime truths seem vague and 
remote, as Phoeacia appeared to Odysseus like a vast 
shield floating on the surface of the distant ocean. 

" The glimmering uncertainty attending all such 
speculations, has led me to attach myself to the Ionic 
sect, who devote themselves entirely to the study of 
outward nature." 

" And this is useful," rejoined Plato : " The man 
who is to be led from a cave will more easily see 
what the heavens contain by looking to the light of 
the moon and the stars, than by gazing on the sun 
at noon-day." 

Here Hermippus interrupted the discourse, by 
saying, "The son of Clinias does not inform us what 
he thinks of the gods. While others have talked, he 
has eaten." 

" I am a citizen and a soldier — neither priest nor 
philosopher," replied Alcibiades : "With a strong 
arm and a willing heart to fight for my country, I 
leave others to settle the attributes of her gods. 
Enough for' me, that I regularly offer sacrifices in 
their temples, and pour libations upon their altars. 
I care very little whether there be Elysian fields, or 
not. I will make an Elysium for myself, as long as 
Aspasia permits me to be surrounded by forms so 
beautiful, and gives me nectar like this to drink." 
He replaced the goblet, from which he had drunk 
deeply, and exclaimed, " By Dionysus ! they quaff 
nothing better than this in voluptuous Ionia !" 

" Me thinks a citizen and a soldier might find a 
more worthy model in Spartan, than in Ionian man- 
ners," said Anaxagoras ; "but the latter truly suits 
better with the present condition of Athens." 


"A condition more glorious than that of any other 
people upon earth," exclaimed Pericles, somewhat 
warmly: "The story of Athens, enthroned in her 
beauty and power, will thrill through generous 
hearts, long after other nations are forgotten." 

" She is like a torch sending forth its last bright 
blaze, before it is extinguished forever," replied An- 
axagoras, calmly: "Where idle demagogues control 
the revenues of industrious citizens, the government 
cannot long stand. It is a pyramid with the base 

"You certainly would not blame the wisdom of 
Aristides, in allowing the poor as well as the rich, 
the privilege of voting?" said Pericles. 

"A moderate supply of wealth is usually the re- 
sult of virtuous and industrious habits ; and it should 
be respected merely for what it indicates," rejoined 
Anaxagoras. "Aristides, and other wise men, in 
their efforts to satisfy the requirements of a restless 
people, have opened a sluice, without calculating 
how it would be enlarged by the rushing waters, 
until the very walls of the city are undermined by 
its power." 

" But can the safety of the state be secured by 
merely excluding the vicious poor?" said Plato. 
"Are there not among us vicious rich men, who 
would rashly vote for measures destructive of public 
good, if they could thereby increase their own wealth? 
He who exports figs to maintain personal splendour, 
when there is famine in Attica, has perhaps less 
public virtue than the beggar, who steals them to 
avoid starvation." 

" But the vicious rich man will bribe the beggar to 


vote as he dictates," replied Anaxagoras ; " and thus 
his power of doing evil becomes two fold." 

" Your respect for permanent institutions makes 
you blind to the love of change, inherent and active 
in the human mind," said Pericles. "If society be 
like the heaving ocean, those who would guide their 
vessels in safety, must obey the winds and the tides." 

"Nay, Pericles," replied the old man, earnestly; 
" if society be a tumultuous ocean, government 
should be its everlasting shores. If the statesman 
watches wind and tide only that his own bark may 
ride through the storm in safety, while every fresh 
wave sweeps a landmark away, it is evident that, 
sooner or later, the deluge must come." 

The discourse was growing too serious to be 
agreeable to Pericles, who well knew that some of 
his best friends deemed he had injured the state, by 
availing himself too freely of the democratic tenden- 
cies of the people. Plato, perceiving this, said, "If 
it please you, Anaxagoras, we will leave these sub- 
jects to be discussed in the Prytaneum and the Ago- 
ras. Fair and glorious is the violet-crowned city, 
and let us trust the gods will long preserve it so." 

"Thou hast well spoken, son of Aristo," replied 
Artaphernes : " Much as I had heard of the glory 
and beauty of Athens, it far surpasses my hopes. 
Perhaps I find myself lingering to gaze on the Odeum 
more frequently than on any other of your magnifi- 
cent edifices ; not for its more impressive beauty ; 
but because it is in imitation of our Great King's 

Hermippus looked up, and smiled with ill-natured 
significance; for Cratinus, the ribald, had openly 


declared in the theatre, that Pericles needed only to 
look in his mirror, to discover a model for the sloping 
roof of the Odeum. Athenian guests were indignant 
at being thus reminded of the gross allusion to a de- 
formity conspicuous in the head of their illustrious 
statesman; but Artaphernes, quite unconscious of 
his meaning, continued: "The noble structure is 
worthy of him who planned it. Yet the unpretend- 
ing beauty of some of your small temples makes me 
feel more as if I were in the presence of a god. I 
have often marvelled what it is in those fair white 
columns, that charms me so much more than the 
palaces of the East, refulgent with gems and gold." 

"The beauty that lies within has ever a mysteri- 
ous power," answered Plato. " An amethyst may 
beam in the eye of a statue ; but what, save the soul 
itself, can give the expression of soul? The very 
spirit of harmony is embodied in the proportions of 
the Parthenon. It is marble music. I sometimes 
think the whole visible beauty of creation is formed 
from the music of the Infinite ; and that the various 
joys we feel are but the union of accordant notes in 
the great chorus of the universe. There is music in 
the airy dance ; music in poetry ; music in the glance 
of a beautiful woman; music in the involutions and 
inflexions of numbers ; above all, there is music in 
light ! And what Light is in this world, Truth is 
in that glorious world to which the mind of man re- 
turns after its long exile. Yes, there is music in 
light ! Hence, Phoebus is god of the Sun and of the 
Lyre, and Memnon yields sweet sounds to welcome 
approaching day. For this reason, the disciples of 
Zoroaster and Pythagoras hail the rising sun with 


the melody of harps ; and the birds pour forth their 
love of light in song. Perchance the order of the 
universe is revealed in the story of Thebes rising to 
the lyre of Amphion ; and Ibycus might have spoken 
sublime truth, when he told of music in the motion 
of the everlasting stars." 

Philothea had listened so earnestly, that for a 
moment all other thoughts were expelled from her 
mind. She threw back her veil, and with her 
whole soul beaming from her face, she exclaimed, 
" O Plato, I once heard the music of the stars! Iby- 

The ardent gaze of Alcibiades restored her to pain- 
ful consciousness; and, blushing deeply, she replaced 
her veil. Aspasia smiled; but Plato, with gentle 
reverence, asked, " What would Philothea say of the 
divine Ibycus V J 

The timid maiden gave no reply ; and the tears 
of innocent shame were seen falling fast upon her 
trembling arm. 

With that ready skill, which ever knows how to 
adapt itself to the circumstances of the moment, As- 
pasia gave a signal to her attendants, and at once 
the mingled melody of voices and instruments burst 
upon the ear. It was one of the enchanting strains 
of Olympus the Mysian; and every heart yielded to 
its influence. A female slave noiselessly brought 
Aspasia's silver harp, and placed before her guests 
citharas and lyres, of ivory inlaid with gold. One by 
one, new voices and instruments joined in the song ; 
and when the music ceased, there was a pause of 
deep and silent joy. 

"Shame to the feast, where the praises of Harmo- 


dius are not sung," said Pericles, smiling, as he 
looked toward Eudora. With rapid fingers the mai- 
den touched her lyre, and sung the patriotic song of 
Callistratus : 

"I'll wreathe my sword with myrtle, as brave Harmodius did, 
And as Aristogeiton his avenging weapon hid ; 
When they slew the haughty tyrant and regained our liberty, 
And, breaking down oppression, made the men of Athens free. 

" Thou art not, loved Harmodius, thou art not surely dead, 
But to some secluded sanctuary far away art fled ; 
With the swift-footed Achilleus, unmolested there to rest, 
And to rove with Diomedes through the islands of the blest. 

" I'll wreathe my sword with myrtle, as Aristogeiton did, 
And as the brave Harmodius his avenging weapon hid ; 
When on Athene's festival they aimed the glorious blow, 
And calling on fair freedom, laid the proud Hipparchus low. 

" Thy fame, beloved Harmodius, through ages still shall brighten, 
Nor ever shall thy glory 7 fade, beloved Aristogeiton; 
Because your country's champions ye nobly dared to be, 
And striking down the tyrant, made the men of Athens free." 

The exhilarating notes stirred every Grecian heart. 
Some waved their garlands in triumph, while others 
joined in the music, and kept time with branches of 

" By Phoebus ! a glorious song and divinely sung," 
exclaimed Alcibiades : "But the lovely minstrel 
brings danger to our hearts in those sweet sounds, 
as Harmodius concealed his sword among myrtle 

Hipparete blushed, and with a quick and nervous 
motion touched her cithara. With a nod and a 
smile, Aspasia said, "''Continue the music, I pray 
you." The tune being left to her own choice, the 
young matron sang Anacreon's Ode to the Grass- 


hopper. Her voice was not unpleasing; but it con- 
trasted disadvantageously with the rich intonations 
of Eudora ; and if the truth must be told, that dark- 
haired damsel was quite too conscious of the fact. 

Tithonus expressed an earnest desire to hear one 
of Pindar's odes; and Philothea, urged by Aspasia, 
Degan with a quivering hand to accompany herself 
on the harp. Her voice was at first weak and trem- 
bling; and Plato, to relieve her timidity, joined in 
the music, which soon gushed forth, clear, deep, and 
melodious : 

" Hail, celestial Poesy ! 
Fair enchantress of mankind ! 
Veiled in \vho|e sweet majesty 
Fables please the human mind. 
But, as year rolls after year, 
These fictitious charms decline ; 
Then, O man, with holy fear, 
Write and speak of things divine. 
Of the heavenly natures say 
Nought unseemly, or profane — 
Hearts that worship and obey, 
Are preserved from guilty stain." 

Oppressed with the grandeur of the music, and 
willing to evade the tacit reproach conveyed in the 
words, Aspasia touched her lyre, and, with mourn- 
ful tenderness, sung Danae's Hymn to her Sleeping 
Infant. Then, suddenly changing to a gayer meas- 
ure, she sang, with remarkable sweetness and flexi- 
bility of voice : 

" While our rosy fillets shed 
Blushes o'er each fervid head, 
With many a cup, and many a smile, 
The festal moments we beguile. 


And while the harp impassioned flings 
Tuneful rapture from the strings, 
Some airy nymph, with fluent limbs, 
Through the dance luxuriant swims, 
Waving in her snowy hand, 
The leafy Dionysian wand, 
Which, as the tripping wanton flies. 
Shakes its tresses to her sighs. 

At these words, a troop of graceful maidens, repre- 
senting the Zephyrs and the Hours, glided in and 
out, between the marble columns, pelting each other 
with roses, as they flew through the mazes of the 

Presently, the music, more slow and measured in 
its cadence, announced the dance of Ariadne guiding 
her lover from the Labyrinth. In obedience to a 
signal from Aspasia, Eudora sprang forward to hold 
the silken cord, and Alcibiades darted forward to per- 
form the part of Theseus. Slowly, but gracefully as 
birds balancing themselves on the air, the maidens 
went through the difficult involutions of the dance. 
They smiled on each other, as they passed and re- 
passed; and though Eudora's veil concealed the ex- 
pression of her features, Philothea observed, with an 
undefined feeling of apprehension, that she showed 
no tokens of displeasure at the brief whispers and 
frequent glances of Alcibiades. 

At last, Pericles bade the attendants bring forth 
the goblet of the Good Genius. A large golden bowl, 
around which a silver grape-vine twined its luxuri- 
ant clusters, was immediately placed before him, 
filled with the rich juices of the Chian grape. Then 
Plato, as king of the feast, exclaimed, f 'The cup 


of the Good Genius is filled. Pledge him in unmixed 

The massive goblet passed among all the guests; 
some taking a deep draught, and others scarcely 
moistening their lips with the wine. When the cere- 
mony was finished, Pericles said, " Now, if it pleases 
Hermippus, we should like to see him in the comic 
dance, for which he is so celebrated." 

Philothea looked earnestly at her grandfather. He 
instantly understood her wishes, and bade farewell 
to Aspasia; urging the plea that his child was un- 
used to late hours, and too timid to be in the streets 
of Athens without his protection. Phidias requested 
that Eudora might accompany them ; and Hipparete 
likewise asked leave to depart. Aspasia bestowed 
gifts on her visiters, according to the munificent 
custom of the country. To Hipparete she gave a 
bracelet of pearls ; to Philothea, a lyre of ivory and 
gold ; and to Eudora, a broad clasp for her mantle, 
on which the car of Aphrodite, drawn by swans, was 
painted in enamel, by Polygnotus, the inventor of 
the art. 

Alcibiades chose to remain at his wine ; but slaves 
with torches were in readiness at the gates, and Hip- 
parete lived in the Ceramicus, within sight of Aspa- 
sia' s dwelling. 

A rapid walk soon restored the maidens to their 
own peaceful homes. Philothea, with the consent 
of Anaxagoras, went to share the apartment of her 
friend; which, separated only by a small garden, 
was almost within hearing of her own. 



Much I dislike the beamless mind, 
Whose earthly vision, unrefined, 
Nature has never formed to see 
The beauties of simplicity! 
Simplicity, the flower of Heaven, 
To souls elect by nature given." 


As the maidens entered their apartment, Eudora 
rather abruptly dismissed Dione, the aged nurse, 
who had been waiting their arrival. Her favourite 
dog was sleeping on the couch ; and she gave the 
little creature a hasty box on the ear, which made 
him spring suddenly to the floor, and look up in her 
face, as if astonished at such ungentle treatment. 

Philothea stooped down and caressed the animal, 
with a slightly reproachful glance at her friend. 

" He was sleeping on my mantle," said the petu- 
lant damsel. 

" His soft, white fur could not have harmed it," 
rejoined her companion; "and you know that Hy- 
lax himself, as well as the mantle, was a gift from 

Eudora carelesssly tossed the mantle over her em- 
broidery frame, from which it trailed along the dusty 
floor. Philothea looked earnestly in her face, unable 
to comprehend such wayward conduct. "It is evi- 
dent you do not want my company to-night," she 
said ; "I will therefore return to my own apartment." 

The peevish maiden slowly untied her sandal, 
without making any reply. Philothea's voice trem- 
bled slightly, as she added, "Good night, Eudora. 


To-morrow I hope you will tell me how I have of- 
fended yon." 

" Stay ! Stay !" exclaimed the capricious damsel ; 
and she laid her hand coaxingly on her friend's arm. 
Philothea smiled a ready forgiveness. 

"I know I am very petulant to-night," said Eu- 
dora ; "but I do not believe you yourself could listen 
to Hipparete without being vexed. She is so stupid, 
and so haughty. I don't think she spoke ten words 
to-night without having a grasshopper for one of 
them. She is so proud of her pure Athenian blood ! 
Do you know she has resolved to employ a skilful 
artificer from Corinth, to make her an ivory box just 
like the one Tithonus gave Aspasia; but she took 
care to inform me that it should be inlaid with gold- 
en grasshoppers, instead of stars. A wise and witty 
device, is't not? to put grasshoppers in the paws of 
transformed Calisto, and fasten them in the belt of 
Orion. The sky will be so purely Athenian, that 
Hipparete herself might condescend to be a constel- 
lation." , 

The talkative maiden laughed at her own conceit j 
and even her more serious companion could not re- 
frain from a smile, as with uutiring volubility she 
continued : " Then she told me that she herself em- 
broidered her grasshopper robe, and bade me admire 
the excellence of the pattern. She said Plato could 
not possibly have mistaken the wreath intended for 
her ; knowing, as he did, that her father and mother 
were both descended from the most ancient families 
in Athens ; and she repeated a list of ancestors with 
names all ending in ippus and ippides. When, in 
answer to her question, I acknowledged that the 


ornament in her hair was beautiful, she told me she 
would gladly give me one like it, if it were proper 
for me to wear it. I do so detest the sight of that 
Athenian emblem ! I would walk to the fields of 
Acharnae, on purpose to crush a grasshopper." 

" You put yourself in a singular passion for such 
a harmless insect," replied Philothea, smiling. "I 
hope there are none of them within hearing. You 
know the poets say they rose from the ashes of men, 
who, when the Muses first had existence, pined 
away for the love of song ; and that after death they 
go to Parnassus, and inform the most ancient Calli- 
ope, the heavenly Urania, and the amorous Erato, 
concerning the conversation of their votaries. If 
they are truly the children of song, they will indeed 
forget their own resentments ; but your conversation 
would be so unlikely to make a favourable impres- 
sion on the tuneful sisters, that it may be well for 
you* the insects are now sleeping." 

a If the tattling tribe were all awake and listening," 
replied Eudora, "I would freely give them leave to 
report all I say against Astronomy, or Poetry, or 
Music. If this be the test, I am willing to be tried 
with Hipparete at the court of the Muses. If she 
were less stupid, I think I could tolerate her pride. 
But I thought she would never have done with a 
long story about a wine-stain that nearly spoiled 
her new dove-coloured robe ; the finest from the 
looms of Ecbatana ; the pattern not to be matched 
in all Greece ; and Aspasia half wild to obtain one 
like it. She did not fail to inform me that the slave 
who had spilled the wine, was tied to the olive-tree 
in the garden, and whipped six da3^s in succession. 


I never saw her in my life that she did not remind 
me of being a slave." . 

" Dearest Eudora," said Philothea, "how can you 
make yourself so unhappy on this subject? Has 
not Phidias, from the first hour he bought you, 
allowed you all the privileges of a daughter?" 

"Yes," replied Eudora; "but the very circum- 
stance that I was bought with his money embitters 
it all. I do not thank him that I have been taught 
all which becomes an Athenian maiden ; for I can 
never be an Athenian. The spirit and the gifts of 
freedom ill assort with the condition of a slave. I 
wish he had left me to tend goats and bear burdens, 
as other slaves do ; to be beaten as they are beaten ; 
starved as they are starved ; and die as they die. I 
should not then have known my degradation. I 
would have made friends with the birds and the 
flowers, and never had a heart-wound from a proud 
Athenian fool." 

Philothea laid her hand gently on her friend's 
arm, and gazing on her excited countenance, she 
said, "Eudora, some evil demon vexes you strangely 
to-night. Did I not know the whole tenor of your 
blameless life, I should fear you were not at peace 
with your own conscience." 

Eudora blushed deeply, and busily caressed the 
dog with her foot. 

In a mild, clear voice, Philothea continued: "What 
now prevents you from making friendship with the 
birds and the flowers ! And why do you cherish a 
pride so easily wounded 1 Yes, it is pride, Eudora. 
It is useless disguise to call it by another name. 
The haughtiness of others can never make us angry, 

64 P H I L T II E A . 

if we ourselves are humble. Besides, it is very pos- 
sible that you are unjust to Hipparete. She might 
very naturally have spoken of her slave's careless- 
ness, without meaning to remind you of bondage." 

" She did mean it," replied Eudora, with angry 
emphasis. " She is always describing her pompous 
sacrifices to Demeter; because she knows I am ex- 
cluded from the temple. I hope I shall live to see 
her proud heart humbled." 

"Nay, Eudora," said Philothea, turning mourn- 
fully away : " Your feelings are strangely embitter- 
ed ; the calm light of reason is totally obscured by 
the wild torch-dance of your passions. Methinks 
hatred itself need wish Hipparete no worse fate than 
to be the wife of so bold and bad a man as Alcibi- 

" Oh, Philothea ! I wonder you can call him bold," 
rejoined Eudora. " He looks steadily at no one ; his 
eyelashes ever rest on his face, like those of a modest 

"Aye, Eudora — but it is not the expression of a 
sinless heart, timidly retiring within the shrine of its 
own purity ; it is the shrinking of a conscience that 
has something to conceal. Little as we know about 
the evils of the world, we have heard enough of 
Alcibiades, to be aware that Hipparete has much 
need to seek the protection of her patron goddess." 

" She had better worship in the temple of Helen, 
at Therapne," answered Eudora, sharply: "The 
journey might not prove altogether hopeless ; for that 
temple is said to confer beauty on the ugliest woman 
that ever entered it." As the peevish damsel said 


this, she gave a proud glance at her own lovely per- 
son, in the mirror, before which a lamp was burning. 

Philothea had often seen her friend in petulant 
moods; but she had never before known her to 
evince so much bitterness, or so long resist the 
soothing influence of kindness. Unwilling to con- 
tend with passions she could not subdue, and would 
not flatter, she remained for some moments in serious 

The expression of her countenance touched Eudo- 
ra's quick feelings ; and she said, in an humble tone, 
" I know I am doing wrong, Philothea, but I cannot 
help it." 

Her friend calmly replied, "If you believe you 
cannot help it, you deceive yourself; and if you do 
not believe it, you had better not have said it." 

"Now you are angry with me," exclaimed the 
sensitive maiden ; and she burst into tears. 

Philothea passed her arm affectionately round her 
waist, saying, "I am not angry with you, Eudora; 
but while I' love you, I cannot and ought not to love 
the bad feelings you cherish. Believe me, my dear 
friend, the insults of others can never make us 
wretched, or resentful, if all is right within our own 
hearts. The viper that stings us is always nourish- 
ed within us. Moreover, I believe, dearest Eudora, 
that half your wrongs are in your own imagination. 
I too am a foreigner ; but I have been very happy 
within the walls of Athens." 

" Because you have never been a slave," retorted 
her companion ; " and you have shared privileges 
that strangers are seldom allowed to share. You 
have been one of the Canephorse ; you have walked 


in the grand procession of the Panathenssa; and 
your statue in pure Pentelic marble, upholds the 
canopy over the sacred olive-tree. I know that your 
skilful fingers, and your surpassing beauty have de- 
served these honours ; but you must pardon me, if I 
do not like the proud Athenians quite so well as 
you do." 

"I gratefully acknowledge the part I have been 
allowed to take in the sacred service of Pallas," re- 
plied the maiden; "but I owe it neither to my 
beauty, nor my skill in embroidery. It was a tribute 
to that wise and good old man, my grandfather." 

"And I," said Eudora, in a tone of deep melan- 
choly, "have neither grandfather, parent, or brother 
to care for me." 

" Who could have proved a better protector than 
Phidias has been?" inquired her gentle friend. 

" Philothea, I cannot forget that I am his slave. 
What I said just now in anger, I repeat in sober sad- 
ness ; it would be better for me to have a slave's 
mind with a slave's destiny." 

" I have no doubt," replied Philothea, " that Phi- 
dias continues to be your master merely that he may 
retain lawful power to protect you, until you are the 
wife of Philasmon." 

"Some slaves have been publicly registered as 
adopted children," said Eudora. 

" But in order to do that," rejoined her friend, " it 
is necessary to swear to their parentage ; and yours 
is unknown. If it were not for this circumstance, I 
believe Phidias would be most willing to adopt you." 

"No, Philothea — Phidias would do no such thing. 
He is good and kind. I know that I have spoken 


of him as I ought not to have spoken. But he is a 
proud man. He would not adopt a nameless orphan, 
found with a poor goatherd of Phelle. Had I de- 
scended from any of the princes conquered by Gre- 
cian valour, or were I even remotely allied with any 
of the illustrious men that Athens has ostracised, 
then indeed I might be the adopted daughter of Phi- 
dias." After a short pause, she added, "If he en- 
franchised me without adoption, I think I should 
have no difficulty in rinding a protector;" and again 
the maiden gave a triumphant glance at her mirror. 

"I am aware that your marriage with Philoemon 
has only awaited the termination of these unfortunate 
law-suits," replied Philothea : "Though he is not 
rich, it cannot be very long before he is able to take 
you under his protection ; and as soon as he has the 
power, he will have the disposition." 

"Will he, indeed!" exclaimed Eudora ; and she 
trotted her little foot impatiently. 

"You are altogether mysterious to-night," said 
Philothea: "Has any disagreement arisen between 
you and Philoemon, during my absence?" 

"He is proud, and jealous; and wishes me to be 
influenced by every whim of his," answered the of- 
fended beauty. 

"The fetters of love are a flowery bondage," re- 
joined Philothea: "Blossoms do not more easily 
unfold themselves to the sunshine, than woman 
obeys the object of her affections. Don't you re- 
member the little boy we found piping so sweetly, 
under the great plane-tree by the fountain of Cal- 
lirhoe? When my grandfather asked him where he 
learned to play so well, he answered; with a look of 


wondering simplicity, that it l piped itself.' Me- 
thinks this would be the reply of a loving woman, 
to one who inquired how her heart had learned sub- 
mission. Bat what has Philsemon required, that you 
consider so unreasonable?" 

"He dislikes to have me visit Aspasia ; and was 
angry because I danced with Alcibiades." 

" And did you tell him that you went to Aspasia' s 
house, in conformity with the express directions of 
Phidias?" inquired Philothea. 

"Why don't you say of my master?" interrupted 
Eudora, contemptuously. 

Without noticing the peevishness of this remark, 
her friend continued : " Are you quite sure that you 
have not been more frequently than you would have 
been, if you had acted merely in reluctant obedience 
to the will of Phidias. I am not surprised that Phil- 
semon is offended at your dancing with Alcibiades; 
assuredly a practice, so boldly at variance with the 
customs of the country, is somewhat unmaidenly." 

" It is enough to be one man's slave," replied Eu- 
dora. " I will dance with whom I please. Alcibi- 
ades is the handsomest, and the most graceful, and 
the most agreeable man in Athens — at least every 
body says so. I don't know why I should offend 
him to please Philaemon." 

"I thought there was a very satisfactory reason," 
observed Philothea, quietly: "Alcibiades is the hus- 
band of Hipparete, and you are the promised wife of 
Philaemon. I would not have believed the person 
who told me that Eudora seriously called Alcibiades 
the handsomest and most agreeable man in Athens." 

"The sculptors think him pre-eminently beauti- 


ful," answered Eudora ; "or they would not so often 
copy his statue in the sacred images of Hermes. 
Socrates applied Anacreon's eloquent praise of Ba- 
thyllus to him, and said he saw in his lips ' Persua- 
sion sleeping upon roses.' " 

" That must have been in the days of youthful 
innocence," replied Philothea: "Surely his counte- 
nance has now nothing divine in its expression ; 
though I grant the colouring rich, and the features 
regular. He reminds me of the Alexandrian coin ; 
outwardly pleasing to the eye but inwardly made of 
base metal. Urania alone confers the beauty-giving 
zone. The temple of Aphrodite in the Piraeus is a 
fitting place for the portrait of Alcibiades; and no 
doubt he is well pleased that the people go there in 
throngs to see him represented leaning on the shoul- 
der of the shameless Nemea." 

"If Aristophon chose to paint him side by side 
with the beautiful Nemea, it is no fault of his," said 

" The artist would not have dared so to represent 
Plato, or Philasmon, or Paralus," rejoined Philothea; 
"nor would Alcibiades allow his picture thus to 
minister to the corruption of the Athenians, if he had 
any perception of what is really beautiful. I con- 
fess, Eudora, it pained me to see you listen to his 
idle flattery. He worships every handsome woman, 
who will allow herself to be polluted by his incense. 
Like Anacreon, his heart is a nest for wanton loves. 
He is never without a brood of them — some trying 
their wings, some in the egg, and some just breaking 
the shell." 

With slight resentment in her mariner, Eudora 


answered : " Anacreon is the most beautiful of poets; 
and I think you speak too harshly of the son of 

' ' I am sorry for you, if you can perceive the beau- 
tiful where the pure is wanting," rejoined Philothea; 
" You have changed, since my residence in the 
Acropolis. The cherub Innocence, that was once 
the ever-present deity in your soul, has already re- 
tired deeper within the shrine, and veils his face in 
presence of the vain thoughts you have introduced 
there. I fear Aspasia has made you believe that a 
passion for distinction is but another name for love 
of the good, the true, and the beautiful. Eudora, if 
this false man has flattered you, believe me, he is 
always ready to bestow the same upon others. He 
has told me that I was the loveliest of earthly 
objects; no doubt he has told you the same; but 
both cannot be true." 

1 l You ! ' ' exclaimed her companion : c ' Where could 
he find opportunity to address such language to 

"Where a better man would have had better 
thoughts," replied Philothea: "It was during the 
sacred festival of the Panathenaea. A short time 
before midnight, it was my duty to receive the 
sacred basket from the hands of the priestess, and 
deposit it in the cave, beneath the Temple of Urania, 
in the gardens. Eucoline, the daughter of Agatho, 
attended me, carrying a lighted torch. Having 
entered the cave, I held the torch while she took up 
the other sacred basket, which was there in readi- 
ness to be conveyed to the Parthenon ; and we again 
stepped forth into the gardens. A flood of light 

PH1L0THEA. 71 

streamed from the Temple, so clear and strong, that 
I could distinctly see the sacred doves, among the 
multitude of fragrant roses — some sleeping in the 
shaded nooks, others fluttering from bush to bush, or 
wheeling round in giddy circles, frightened by the 
glare. Near a small lake in the centre of the gar- 
dens, stood Myron's statue of the heavenly Urania, 
guiding a dove to her temple by a garland of flowers. 
It had the pure and placid expression of the human 
soul, when it dwells in love and peace. In this holy 
atmosphere we paused for a moment in silent rever- 
ence. A smiling band of infant hours came cluster- 
ing round my memory, and softly folded themselves 
about my heart. I thought of those early days, 
when, hand in hand with Paralus, I walked forth in 
the spring-time, welcoming the swallows to our 
shores, and gathering fragrant thyme to feed my 
bees. We did not then know that bees and young 
hearts need none to take thought for their joy, but 
best gather their own sweet nourishment in sunlight 
and freedom. I remembered the helpless kid that 
Paralus confided to my care. When we dressed the 
little creature in wreaths, we mourned that flowers 
would not grow in garlands ; for it grieved our 
childish hearts to see them wither. Once we found, 
in the crevice of a moss-covered rock, a small nest 
with three eggs. Paralus took one of them in his 
hand ; and when we had admired its beauty, he 
kissed it reverently, and returned it to its hiding- 
place. It was the natural outpouring of a heart 
brimful of love for all things pure and simple. 
Paralus ever lived in affectionate communion with 
the birds and the flowers. Firm in principle, but 


gentle in affection, he himself is like the rock, in 
whose bosom the loving bird found a sheltered nook, 
so motherly and safe, where she might brood over 
her young hopes in quiet joy." 

The maiden's heart had unconsciously followed 
her own innocent recollections, like the dove led by 
a garland; and for a few moments she remained 
silent in thoughtful tenderness. 

Eudora's changeful and perturbed spirit had been 
soothed by the serene influence of her friend ; and 
she too was silent for awhile. But the giddy images 
that had of late been reeling their wild dance through 
her brain, soon came back in glittering fantasy. 

"Philothea!" she exclaimed, abruptly, "you have 
not told me where you met Alcibiades ?" 

The maiden looked up suddenly, like an infant 
startled from sweet dreams by some rude noise. 
Recovering from her surprise, she smiled, and said, 
" Eudora, your question came upon me like his un- 
expected and unwelcome presence in the sacred gar- 
dens. I told you that we stood by that quiet lake 
in meek reverence; worshipping, — not the marble 
image before us, — but the Spirit of Beauty, that 
glides through the universe, breathing the invisible 
through visible forms, in such mysterious harmony. 
Suddenly Eucoline touched my arm with a quick 
and timid motion. I turned and saw a young man 
gazing earnestly upon us. Our veils, which had 
been thrown back while we looked at the statue, 
were instantly dropped, and we hastily retraced our 
steps. The stranger followed us, until we passed 
under the shade of the olive grove, within sight of 
the Propylcea. He then knelt, and attempting to hold 


me by the robe, poured forth the wildest protesta- 
tions of love. I called aloud for protection ; and my 
voice was heard by the priests, who were passing in 
and out of the Acropolis, in busy preparation for the 
festival. The young man suddenly disappeared; 
but he was one of the equestrians that shared in the 
solemnities of the night, and I again saw him as I 
took my place in the procession. I had then never 
seen Alcibiades; but when I met him to-night, I 
immediately recognized the stranger who spoke so 
rudely in the olive-grove." 

"You must forgive me," said Eudora, "if I am 
not much disposed to blame mortal man for wishing 
to look upon your face a second time. Even Plato 
does homage to woman's beauty." 

"True, Eudora; but there is reverence mingled 
with his homage. The very atmosphere around 
Alcibiades seemed unholy. I never before met such 
a glance ; and the gods grant I may never meet such 
another. I should not have mentioned the occur- 
rence, even to you, had I not wished to warn you 
how lightly this volatile Athenian can make love." 

" I heard something of this before," rejoined Eu- 
dora; " but I did not know the particulars." 

"How could you have heard of it?" inquired 
Philothea, with an accent of strong surprise. 

" Alcibiades had a more eager curiosity than your- 
self," replied Eudora. " He soon ascertained the 
name of the lovely Canephoras that he saw in the 
Gardens of Urania ; and he has never leased impor- 
tuning Aspasia, until you were persuaded to visit 
her house." 

The face, neck, and arms of the modest maiden 


were flushed with indignant crimson. " Was it for 
this purpose," she said, " that I was induced to yield 
my own sense of propriety to the solicitations of 
Pericles? It is ever thus, when we disobey the 
gods, to please mortals. How could I believe that 
any motive so harmless as idle curiosity induced 
that seductive and dangerous woman to urge me 
into her unhallowed presence?" 

" I marvelled at your courage in talking to her as 
you did," said Eudora. 

"Something within impelled me," replied Philo- 
thea, reverently; — "I did not speak from myself." 

Eudora remained in serious silence for a moment ; 
and then said, " Can you tell me, Philothea, what 
you meant by saying you once heard the stars sing? 
Or is that one of those things concerning which you 
do not love to have me inquire?" 

The maiden replied: "As I sat at my grand- 
father's feet, near the statue of Phoebus in the por- 
tico, at early dawn, I heard music, of soft and vari- 
ous sounds, floating in the air ; and I thought per- 
chance it was the farewell hymn of the stars, or the 
harps of the Pleiades, mourning for their lost sister. 
— I had never spoken of it; but to-night I forgot the 
presence of all save Plato, when I heard him dis- 
course so eloquently of music." 

" And were you as unhappy as you expected to 
be during this visit?" inquired her friend. 

"Some portions of the evening I enjoyed exceed- 
ingly," replied Philothea. "I could have listened 
to Plato and Tithonus, until I grew old in their pre- 
sence. Their souls seem to move in glowing moon^ 
light, as if surrounded by bright beings from a bet- 
ter world." 


Eudora looked thoughtfully in her friend's face. 
" It is strange," she said, " how closely you associ- 
ate all earthly objects with things divine. I have 
heard Anaxagoras say that when you were a little 
child, you chased the fleeting sunshine through the 
fields, and called it the glittering wings of Phosbus 
Apollo, as he flew over the verdant earth. And 
still, dearest Philothea, your heart speaks the same 
language. Wherever you look, you see the shining 
of god-like wings. Just so you talked of the moon- 
light, the other evening. To Hipparete, that solemn 
radiance would have suggested no thought except 
that lamp-light was more favourable to the com- 
plexion ; and Hermippus would merely have rejoiced 
in it, because it saved him the expense of an attend- 
ant and a torch, as he reeled home from his midnight 
revels. I seldom think of sacred subjects, except 
when I am listening to you ; but they then seem so 
bright, so golden, so divine, that I marvel they ever 
appear to me like cold, dim shadows." 

" The flowers of the field are unlike, but each has 
a beauty of its own ; and thus it is with human 
souls," replied Philothea, 

For a brief space there was silence. But Eudora, 
true to the restless vivacity of her character, soon 
seized her lyre, and carelessly touching the strings, 
she hummed one of Sappho's ardent songs : 

*' More happy than the gods is he, 
Who soft reclining sits by thee ; 
His ears thy pleasing talk beguiles, 
His eyes thy sweetly dimpled smiles. 
This, this, alas ! alarmed my breast, 
And robbed me of my golden rest." 

Philothea interrupted her, by saying, "I should 


76 PH1L0THEA. 

much rather hear something from the pure and 
tender-hearted Simonides." 

But the giddy damsel, instead of heeding her re- 
quest, abruptly exclaimed, " Did you observe the 
sandals of Artaphernes sparkle as he walked? How 
richly Tithonus was dressed ! Was it not a magni- 
ficent costume?" 

Philothea, smiling at her childish prattle, replied, 
"It was gorgeous, and well fancied ; but I preferred 
Plato's simple robe, distinguished only by the fine- 
ness of its materials, and the tasteful adjustment of 
its folds." 

"I never saw a philosopher that dressed so well 
as Plato," said Eudora. 

"It is because he loves the beautiful, even in its 
minutest forms," rejoined Philothea; "in that re- 
spect he is unlike the great master he reverences so 

"Yes — men say it is a rare thing to meet either 
Socrates or his robe lately returned from the bath," 
observed Eudora; "yet, in those three beautiful 
statues, which Pericles has caused to be placed in 
the Propyloea, the philosopher has carved admirable 
drapery. He has clothed the Graces, though the 
Graces never clothed him. I wonder Aristophanes 
never thought of that jest. Notwithstanding his 
willingness to please the populace with the coarse 
wit current in the Agoras, I think it gratifies his 
equestrian pride to sneer at those who are too frugal 
to buy coloured robes, and fill the air with delicious 
perfumes as they pass. I know you seldom like the 
comic w nters. What did you think of Hermippus ?" 

"His countenance and his voice troubled me, like 



the presence of evil," answered Philothea. "I re- 
joiced that my grandfather withdrew with us, as 
soon as the goblet of the Good Genius passed round 
and before he began to dance the indecent cordax 

" He has a sarcastic, suspicious glance, that might 
sour the ripest grapes in Chios," rejoined Eudora. 
"The comic writers are over-jealous of Aspasia's 
preference to the tragic poets ; and I suppose she per- 
mitted this visit to bribe his enmity ; as ghosts are 
said to pacify Cerberus with a cake. But hark ! I 
hear Geta unlocking the outer gate. Phidias has 
returned ; and he likes to have no lamp burn later 
than his own. We must quickly prepare for rest; 
though I am as wakeful as the bird of Pallas." 

She began to unclasp her girdle, as she spoke, and 
something dropped upon the floor. 

Philothea was stooping to unlace her sandal, and 
she immediately picked it up. 

It was a beautiful cameo of Alcibiades, with the 
quiver &n(J bow of Eros. 

Eudora took it with a deep blush, saying, " Aspa- 
sia gave it to me." 

Her friend looked very earnestly in her face for a 
moment, and sighed as she turned away. It was 
the first time she had ever doubted Eudora's truth. 



" Two several gates 
Transmit those airy phantoms. One of horn, 
And of sawn ivory one. Such dreams as pass 
The gate of ivory, prove empty sounds ; 
While others, through the polished horn effused, 
Whose eye soe'er they visit, never fail." 


The dwellings of Anaxagoras and Phidias were 
separated by a garden entirely sheltered from public 
observation. On three sides it was protected by the 
buildings, so as to form a hollow square ; the remain- 
der was screened by a high stone wall. This gar- 
den was adorned with statues and urns, among 
which bloomed many choice shrubs and flowers. 
The entire side of Anaxagoras' house was covered 
with a luxuriant grape-vine, which stretched itself 
out on the roof 3 as if enjoying the sunshine. The 
women's apartments communicated by a "private 
avenue, which enabled the friends to see each other 
as conveniently as if they had formed one house- 

The morning after the conversation we have men- 
tioned, Philothea rose early, and returned to her own 
dwelling. As she passed through the avenue, she 
looked into the garden, and smiled to see, suspended 
by a small cord thrown over the wall, a garland, 
fastened with a delicately-carved arrow, bearing the 
inscription — " To Eudora, the most beautiful, most 

Glad to assist in the work of reconciliation, she 
separated the wreath from the string, and carried it 


to her for whom it was intended. "Behold the 
offering of Philaemon !" she exclaimed, joyfully : 
"Dearest Eudora, beware how you estrange so true 
a heart." 

The handsome maiden received her flowers with 
evident delight, not unmingled with confusion; for 
she suspected that they came from a greater flatterer 
than Philaemon. 

Philothea returned to her usual avocations, with 
anxiety somewhat lessened by this trifling incident. 

Living in almost complete seclusion, the simple- 
hearted maiden was quite unconscious that the new 
customs, introduced by Aspasia, had rendered in- 
dustry and frugality mere vulgar virtues. But the 
restraint of public opinion was unnecessary to keep 
her within the privacy of domestic life ; for it was 
her own chosen home. She loved to prepare her 
grandfather's frugal repast of bread and grapes, and 
wild honey ; to take care of his garments ; to copy 
his manuscripts ; and to direct the operations of 
Milza, a Jittle Arcadian peasant girl, who was her 
only attendant. These duties, performed with cheer- 
ful alacrity, gave a fresh charm to the music and 
embroidery with which she employed her leisure 

Anaxagoras was extremely attached to his lovely 
grandchild ; and her great intellectual gifts, accom- 
panied as they were by uncommon purity of charac- 
ter, had procured from him and his friends a degree 
of respect not usually bestowed upon women of that 
period. She was a most welcome auditor to the 
philosophers, poets, and artists, who were ever fond 
of gathering round the good old man ; and when it 


was either necessary or proper to remain in her 
own apartment, there was the treasured wisdom 
of Thales, Pythagoras, Hesiod, Homer, Simonides, 
Ibycus, and Pindar. More than one of these pre- 
cious volumes were transcribed entirely by her own 

In the midst of such communion, her spirit drank 
freely from the fountains of sublime knowledge ; 
which, "like the purest waters of the earth, can be 
obtained only by digging deep, — but when they are 
found, they rise up to meet us." 

The intense love of the beautiful, thus acquired, 
far from making the common occupations of life dis- 
tasteful, threw over them a sort of poetic interest, as 
a richly painted window casts its own glowing col- 
ours on mere boards and stones. The higher regions 
of her mind were never obscured by the clouds of 
daily care ; but thence descended perpetual sunshine, 
to gild the vapour. 

On this day, however, Philothea's mind was less 
serene than usual. The unaccountable change in 
Eudora's character perplexed and troubled her. 
When she parted from her to go into the Acropolis, 
she had left her as innocent and contented as a little 
child ; and so proud and satisfied in Philsemon's 
love, that she deemed herself the happiest of all 
happy beings : at the close of six short months, she 
found her transformed into a vain, restless, am- 
bitious woman, wild for distinction, and impatient 
of restraint. 

All this Philothea was disposed to pity and forgive; 
for she felt that frequent intercourse with Aspasia 
might have dazzled even a stronger mind, and changed 


a less susceptible heart. Her own diminished influ- 
ence, she regarded as the inevitable result of her 
friend's present views and feelings; and she only 
regretted it because it lessened her power of doing 
good where she was most desirous to be useful. 

Several times, in the course of the day, her heart 
yearned toward the favourite of her childhood ; and 
she was strongly impelled to go to her and confess 
all her anxieties. But Eudora came not, as she had 
ever been wont to do, in the intervals of household 
occupation ; and this obvious neglect drove Philo- 
thea's kind impulses back upon her heart. 

Hylax, as he ran round the garden, barking and 
jumping at the birds in the air, instantly knew her 
voice, and came capering in, bounding up at her 
side, and licking her hand. The tears came to 
Philothea's eyes, as she stooped to caress the affec- 
tionate animal: " Poor Hylax," said she, "yowhave 
not changed." She gathered some flowers, and 
twined them round the dog's neck, thinking this 
simple artifice might bring a visit from her friend. 

But the sun went down, and still she had not 
caught a glimpse of Eudora, even in the garden. 
Her affectionate anxiety was almost deepening into 
sadness, when Anaxagoras returned, accompanied by 
the Ethiopian boy. 

" I bring an offering from the munificent Tithon- 
us," said the philosopher: " He came with my dis- 
ciples to-day, and we have had much discourse 
together. To-morrow he departs from Athens ; and 
he bade me say that he hoped his farewell gift 
would not be unacceptable to her whose voice made 
even Pindar's strains more majestic and divine." 


The boy uncovered an image he carried in his 
arms, and with low obeisance presented it to Philo- 
thea. It was a small statue of Urania, wrought in 
ivory and gold. The beautiful face was turned 
upward, as if regarding the heavens with quiet 
contemplation. A crown of golden planets encircled 
the head, and the scarf, enamelled with deep and 
vivid azure, likewise glowed with stars. 

Philothea smiled, as she glanced round the apart- 
ment, and said, " It is a humble shrine for a Muse so 

" Honesty and innocence are fitter companions for 
the gods, than mere marble and gold," replied the 

As a small indication of respect and gratitude, the 
maiden sent Tithonus a roll of papyrus, on which 
she had neatly copied Pindar's Odes; and the boy, 
having received a few oboli for his trouble, returned 
charged with thanks and good wishes for his master. 

Philothea, spontaneously yielding to the old habit 
of enjoying everything with her friend, took the 
statue in her arms, and went directly to her room. 
Eudora was kind and cheerful, but strangely flut- 
tered. She praised the beautiful image in the exces- 
sive terms of one who feels little, and is therefore 
afraid of not saying enough. Her mind was evi- 
dently disturbed with thoughts quite foreign to the 
subject of her conversation; but, making an effort at 
self-possession, she said, " I too have had a present : 
Artaphemes sent it because my voice reminded him 
of one he loved in his youth." She unfolded a roll 
of perfumed papyrus, and displayed a Persian veil 
of gold and silver tissue. Philothea pronounced it 

P H I L O T H E A . 83 

fit for the toilette of a queen ; but frankly confessed 
that it was too gorgeous to suit her taste. 

At parting, she urged Eudora to share her apart- 
ment for the night. The maiden refused, under the 
pretext of illness ; but when her friend offered to 
remain with her, she hastily replied that she should 
be much better alone. 

As Philothea passed through the sheltered avenue, 
she saw Milza apparently assisting Geta in cleansing 
some marbles ; and thinking Phidias would be pleased 
with the statue, she asked Geta to convey it to his 
room. He replied, " My master has gone to visit a 
friend at Salamis, and will not return until morning." 
The maiden was much surprised that her friend had 
made no allusion to this circumstance; but she 
forbore to return and ask an explanation. 

Another subject attracted her attention and occu- 
pied some share of her thoughts. She had observed 
that Geta and Milza appeared much confused when 
she spoke to them. When she inquired what Geta 
had been saying, the pretty Arcadian, with an avert- 
ed face, replied, " He called me to see a marble dog, 
barking as if he had life in him ; only he did not 
make any noise." 

" Was that all Geta talked of?" said Philothea. 

"He asked me if I liked white kids," answered 
the blushing peasant. 

"And what did you tell him?" inquired the 

With a bashful mixture of simplicity and arch- 
ness, the young damsel answered, "I told him I 
liked white kids very much." 

Philothea smiled, and asked no more questions. 

84 P H I L O T H E A . 

When she repeated this brief conversation to Anax- 
agoras, he heard it with affectionate interest in 
Milza's welfare, and promised to have a friendly 
talk with honest-hearted Geta. 

The wakefulness and excitement of the preceding 
night had been quite at variance with the tranquil 
regularity of Philothea's habits ; and the slight re- 
pose, which she usually enjoyed in the afternoon, 
hact. been disturbed by her grandfather, who came to 
say that Paralus was with him, and wished to see 
her -a few moments, before they went out to the 
Piraeus together. Being therefore unusually weary, 
both in body and mind, the maiden early retired to 
her couch ; and with mingled thoughts of her lover 
and her friend, she soon fell into a profound sleep. 

She dreamed of being with Paralus in an olive 
grove, over the deep verdure of which shining white 
blossoms were spread, like a silver veil. Her lover 
played upon his flute, while she leaned against a 
tree and listened. Soon, the air was filled with a 
multitude of doves, flocking from every side; and 
the flapping of their wings kept time to the music. 

Then, suddenly, the scene changed to the garden 
of Phidias. The statues seemed to smile upon her, 
and the flowers looked up bright and cheerful, in an 
atmosphere more mild than the day, but warmer 
than the moon. Presently, one of the smiling statues 
became a living likeness of Eudora, and with de- 
lighted expression gazed earnestly on the ground. 
Philothea looked to see what excited her admiration 
— and lo ! a large serpent, shining with green and 
gold, twisted itself among the flowers in manifold 
involutions; and wheresoever the beautiful viper 


glided, the blossoms became crisped and blackened, 
as if fire had passed over them. With a sudden 
spring the venomous creature coiled itself about 
Eudora's form, and its poisoned tongue seemed just 
ready to glance into her heart ; yet still the maiden 
laughed merrily, heedless of her danger. 

Philothea awoke with a thrill of anguish ; but 
thankful to realize that it was all a dream, she mur- 
mured a brief prayer, turned upon her couch, and 
soon yielded to the influence of extreme drowsiness. 

In her sleep, she seemed to be working at her em- 
broidery ; and Hylax came and tugged at her robe, 
until she followed him into the garden. There 
Eudora stood smiling, and the glittering serpent was 
again dancing before her. 

Disturbed by the recurrence of this unpleasant 
dream, the maiden remained awake for a consider- 
able time, listening to the voices of her grandfather 
and his guests, which still came up with a murmur- 
ing sound 'from the room below. Gradually her 
senses were lulled into slumber ; and again the same 
dream recurred to distress and waken her. 

Unable longer to resist the strength of her impres- 
sions, Philothea arose, and descending a few of the 
steps, which led to the lower part of the house, she 
looked into the garden, through one of the apertures 
that had been left in the wall for the admission of 
light. Behind a statue of Erato, she was sure that 
she saw coloured drapery floating in the moonlight. 
Moving on to the next aperture, she distinctly per- 
ceived Eudora standing by the statue ; and instead 
of the graceful serpent, Alcibiades knelt before her. 
His attitude and gesture were impassioned; and 


though the expression of Eudora's countenance could 
not be seen, she was evidently giving him no ungra- 
cious audience. 

Philothea put her hand to her heart, which throb- 
bed violently with painful emotion. Her first thought 
was to end this interview at all hazards ; but she 
was of a timid nature ; and when she had folded 
her robe and veil about her, her courage failed. 
Again she looked through the aperture and saw that 
the arm of Alcibiades rested on the shoulder of her 
misguided friend. 

Without taking time for a second thought, she 
sprang down the remaining steps, darted through the 
private avenue into the garden, and standing directly 
before the deluded girl, she exclaimed, in a tone of 
earnest expostulation, " Eudora !" 

With a half-suppressed scream, the maiden disap- 
peared. Alcibiades, with characteristic boldness, 
seized Philothea' s robe, exclaiming, " What have 
we here ? So help me Aphrodite ! it is the lovely 
Canephora of the gardens ! Now Eros forsake me 
if I lose this chance to look on her heavenly face 

He attempted to raise the veil, which the terrified 
maiden grasped convulsively, as she tried to extricate 
herself from his hold. 

At that instant, a stern voice sounded from the 
opposite wall ; and Philothea, profiting by the sud- 
den surprise into which Alcibiades was thrown, 
darted through the avenue, bolted the door, and in 
an instant after was within the sanctuary of her own 

Here the tumult of mingled emotion subsided in a 


flood of tears. She mourned over the shameful 
infatuation of Eudora, and she acutely felt the deg- 
radation attached to her own accidental share in the 
scene. With these thoughts was mingled deep pity 
for the pure-minded and excellent Philssmon. She 
was sure that it was his voice she had heard from 
the wall ; and she rightly conjectured that, after his 
prolonged interview with Anaxagoras, he had partly 
ascended the ladder leading to the house-top, and 
looked through the fluttering grape-leaves at the 
dwelling of his beloved. 

The agitation of her mind prevented all thoughts 
of sleep. Again and again she looked out anxiously. 
All was hushed and motionless. The garden re- 
posed in the moonbeams, like truths, which receive 
no warmth from the heart — seen only in the clear, 
cold light of reason. The plants were visible, but 
colourless; and the statues stood immovable in their 
silent, lifeless beauty. 



Persuasive is the voice of Vice, 
That spreads the insidious snare. 


Early the next morning, painful as the task was, 
Philothea went to Eudora's room; for she felt that 
if she ever hoped to save her, she must gain influ- 
ence now. 

The maiden had risen from her couch, and was 
leaning her head on her hand, in an attitude of deep 
thought. She raised her eyes as Philothea entered, 
and her face was instantly suffused with the crimson 
flush of shame. She made no reply to the usual 
salutations of the morning, but with evident agita- 
tion twisted and untwisted some shreds that had 
fallen from her embroidery. 

For a moment her friend stood irresolute. She 
felt a strong impulse to put her arm around Eudora's 
neck and conjure her, even for her own sake, to be 
frank and confiding; but the scene in the garden 
returned to her memory, and she recoiled from her 
beloved companion, as from something polluted. 

Still ignorant how far the deluded girl was involv- 
ed, she felt that the manner in which she deported 
herself toward her, might perhaps fix her destiny for 
good or evil. With a kind, but trembling voice, she 
said, u Eudora, will you tell me whether the inter- 
view I witnessed last night was an appointed one ?" 

Eudora persevered in silence, but her agitation 
obviously increased. 


Her friend looked earnestly in Her excited counte- 
nance for a moment, and then said, " Eudora, I do 
entreat you to tell me the whole truth in this mat- 

"I have not yet learned what right you have to 
inquire," replied the misguided maiden. 

Philothea's eyes were filled with tears, as she said, 
" Does the love we have felt for each other from our 
earliest childhood, give me no claim to your confi- 
dence 1 Had we ever a cake, or a bunch of grapes, 
of which one did not reserve for the other the largest 
and best portion? I well remember the day when 
you broke the little marble kid Phidias had given 
you.' You fairly sobbed yourself to sleep in my 
lap, while I smoothed back the silky curls all wet 
with your tears, and sung my childish songs to please 
you. You came to me with all your infant troubles 
— and in our maturer years, have we not shared all 
our thoughts? Oh, still trust to the affection that 
never deceived you. Believe me, dear Eudora, you 
would not wish to conceal your purposes and actions 
from your earliest and best friend, unless you had 
an inward consciousness of something wrong. Every 
human being has, like Socrates, an attendant spirit ; 
and wise are they who obey its signals. If it does 
not always tell us what to do, it always cautions us 
what not to do. Have you not of late struggled 
against the warnings of this friendly spirit? Is it 
safe to contend with him, till his voice recedes, like 
music in the distance, and is heard no more ?" 

She looked earnestly in Eudora' s face for a mo- 
ment, and perceiving that her feelings were some- 
what softened, she added, "I will not again ask 


whether the meeting of last night was an appointed 
one ; for you surely would repel the suspicion, if you 
could do so with truth. It is too evident that this 
insinuating man has fascinated you, as he already 
has done hundreds of others ; and for the sake of his 
transient flattery, you have thrown away Philaemon's 
pure and constant love. Yet the passing notice of 
Alcibiades is a distinction you will share with half 
the maidens of Athens. When another new face 
attracts his fancy, you will he forgotten ; but you 
cannot so easily forget your own folly. The friends 
you cast from you can never be regained ; tranquillity 
of mind will return no more ; conscious innocence, 
which makes the human countenance a tablet fof the 
gods to write upon, can never be restored. And for 
what will you lose all this ? Think for a moment 
what is the destiny of those women, who, following 
the steps of Aspasia, seek happiness in the homage 
paid to triumphant beauty — youth wasted in restless 
excitement, and old age embittered by the conscious- 
ness of deserved contempt. For this, are you will- 
ing to relinquish the happiness that attends a quiet 
discharge of duty, and the cheerful intercourse of 
true affection?" 

In a tone of offended pride, Eudora answered : 
" Philothea, if I were what you seem to believe me, 
your words would be appropriate ; but I have never 
had any other thought than that of being the acknowl- 
edged wife of Alcibiades." 

" Has he then made you believe that he would 
divorce Hipparete?" 

"Yes — he has solemnly sworn it. Such a trans- 
action would have nothing remarkable in it. Each 


revolving moon sees similar events occur in Athens. 
The wife of Pericles had a destiny like that of her 
namesake ; of whom the poets write that she was 
beloved for awhile by Olympian Zeus, and afterward 
changed into a quail. Pericles promised Aspasia that 
he would divorce Asteria and marry her ; and he 
has kept his word. Hipparete is not so very beauti- 
ful or gifted, as to make it improbable that Alcibi- 
ades might follow his example." 

''It is a relief to my heart," said Philothea, "to 
find that you have been deluded with hopes, which, 
however deceitful, render you comparatively inno- 
cent. But believe me, Eudora, Alcibiades will never 
divorce Hipparete. If he should do so, the law 
would compel him to return her magnificent dowry. 
Her connections have wealth and influence; and her 
brother Callias has promised that she shall be his 
heir. The paternal fortune of Alcibiades has all 
been expended, except his estate near Erchia; and 
this he 'knows full well is quite insufficient to sup- 
port his luxury and pride." 

Eudora answered warmly, " If you knew Alcibi- 
ades, you would not suspect him of such sordid 
motives. He would throw money into the sea like 
dust, if it stood in the way of his affections." 

"I am well aware of his pompous wastefulness, 
when he wishes to purchase popularity by lavish 
expenditure," replied Philothea. " But Alcibiades 
has found hearts a cheap commodity, and he will 
not buy with drachmae, what he can so easily obtain 
by flattery. Your own heart, I believe, is not really 
touched. Your imagination is dazzled with his 
splendid chariots of ivory inlaid with silver; his 


unrivalled stud of Phasian horses ; his harnesses of 
glittering brass ; the golden armour which he loves 
to display at festivals ; his richly-coloured garments, 
fresh from the looms of Sardis, and redolent with 
the perfumes of the East. You are proud of his 
notice, because you see that other maidens are flat- 
tered by it; because his statue stands among the 
Olympionicse, in the sacred groves of Zeus, and 
because all Athens rings with the praises of his 
beauty, his gracefulness, his magnificence, and his 

" I am not so weak as your words imply," rejoined 
Eudora. "I believe that I love Alcibiades better 
than I ever loved Philaemon ; and if the consent of 
Phidias can be obtained, I cannot see why you 
should object to our marriage." 

For a few moments, Philothea remained in hope- 
less silence ; then, in a tone of tender expostulation, 
she continued: "Eudora, I would the power were 
given me to open your eyes before it is too late ! If 
Hipparete be not beautiful, she certainly is not un- 
pleasing ; her connections have high rank and great 
wealth; she is virtuous and affectionate, and the 
mother of his children. If, with all these claims, 
she can be so lightly turned away for the sake of a 
lovelier face, what can you expect, when your beauty 
no longer has the charm of novelty? You, who 
have neither wealth nor powerful connections, to 
serve the purposes of that ambitious man 7 And 
think for yourself, Eudora, if Alcibiades means as 
he says, why does he seek stolen interviews at mid- 
night, in the absence of Phidias?" 

"It is because he knows that Phidias has an un- 


common regard for Philgemon," replied Eudora; 
c< but he thinks he can, in time, persuade him to 
consult our wishes. I know, better than you possi- 
bly can, what reasons I have to trust the strength of 
his affection. Aspasia says she has never seen him 
so deeply in love as he is now." 

" It is as I feared," said Philothea; " the voice of 
that siren is luring you to destruction."* 

Eudora answered, in an angry tone, " I love Aspa- 
sia; and it offends me to hear her spoken of in this 
manner. If you are content to be a slave, like the 
other Grecian women, who bring water and grind 
corn for their masters, I have no objection. I have 
a spirit within me that demands a wider field of 
action, and I enjoy the freedom that reigns in Aspa- 
sia' s house. Alcibiades says he does not blame 
women for not liking to be shut up within four 
walls all their life-time, ashamed to show their faces 
like other mortals." 

Quietly, but sadly, Philothea replied : "Farewell, 
Eudora. 'May the powers that guide our destiny, 
preserve you from any real cause for shame. You 
are now living in Calypso's island; and divine 
beings alone can save you from the power of her en- 

Eudora made no response, and did not even raise 
her eyes, as her companion left the apartment. 

As Philothea passed through the garden, she saw 
Milza standing in the shadow of the vines, feeding a 
kid with some flowers she held in her hand, while 
Geta was fastening a crimson cord about its neck. 
A glad influence passed from this innocent group 


into the maiden's heart, like the glance of a sunbeam 
over a dreary landscape. 

"Is the kid yours, Milza V she asked, with an 
affectionate smile. 

The happy little peasant raised her eyes with an 
arch expression, but instantly lowered them again, 
covered with blushes. It was a look that told all 
the secrets of her young heart more eloquently than 

Philothea had drank freely from those abundant 
fountains of joy in the human soul, which remain 
hidden till love reveals their existence, as secret 
springs are said to be discovered by a magic wand. 
With affectionate sympathy she placed her hand 
gently on Milza's head, and said, "Be good — and 
the gods will ever provide friends for you." 

The humble lovers gazed after her with a blessing 
in their eyes ; and in the consciousness of this, her 
meek spirit found a solace for the wounds Eudora 
had given. 



O Zeus ! why hast thou given us certain proof 
To know adulterate gold, but stamped no mark, 
Where it is needed most, on man's base metal ! 


When Philothea returned to her grandfather's 
apartment, she found the good old man with an 
open tablet before him, and the remainder of a rich 
cluster of grapes lying on a shell by his side. 

" I have wanted you, my child," said he, " Have 
you heard the news all Athens is talking of, that you 
sought your friend so early in the day 1 You are not 
wont to be so eager to carry tidings." 

" I have not heard the rumours whereof you 
speak," replied Philothea. " What is it, my father V 

u Hipparete went from Aspasia's house to her 
brother Callias, instead of the dwelling of her hus- 
band," rejoined Anaxagoras : "by his advice she re- 
fused to return ; and she yesterday appealed to the 
archons for a divorce from Alcibiades, on the plea of 
his notorious profligacy. Alcibiades, hearing of this, 
rushed into the assembly, with his usual boldness, 
seized his wife in his arms, carried her through the 
crowd, and locked her up in her own apariment. 
No man ventured to interfere with this lawful exer- 
cise of his authority. It is rumoured that Hipparete 
particularly accused him of promising marriage to 
Electra the Corinthian, and Eudora, of the house- 
hold of Phidias." 

For the first time in her life, Philothea turned 
away her face, to conceal its expression," while she 

96 P H 1 L O T H E A . 

inquired in a tremulous tone whether these facts had 
been told to Philsemon, the preceding evening. 

" Some of the guests were speaking of it when he 
entered," replied Anaxagoras; "but no one alluded 
to it in his presence. Perhaps he had heard the 
rumour, for he seemed sad and disquieted, and 
joined little in the conversation." 

Embarrassed by the questions which her grand- 
father was naturally disposed to ask, Philothea briefly 
confessed that a singular change had taken place in 
Eudora's character, and begged permission to be 
silent on a subject so painful to her feelings. She 
felt strongly inclined to return immediately to her 
deluded friend ; but the hopelessness induced by her 
recent conversation, combined with the necessity of 
superintending Milza in some of her household occu- 
pations, occasioned a few hours' delay. 

As she attempted to cross the garden for that pur- 
pose, she saw Eudora enter hastily by the private 
gate, and pass to her own apartment. Philothea in- 
stantly followed her, and found that she had thrown 
herself on the couch, sobbing violently. She put her 
arms about her neck, and affectionately inquired the 
cause of her distress. 

For a long time the poor girl resisted every sooth- 
ing effort, and continued to weep bitterly. At last, 
in a voice stifled with sobs, she said, "I was indeed 
deceived: and you, Philothea, was my truest friend; 
as you have always been." 

The tender-hearted maiden imprinted a kiss upon 
her hand, and asked whether it was Hipparete's ap- 
peal to the archons, that had so suddenly convinced 
her of theWalsehood of Alcibiades. 


"I have heard it all," replied Eudora, with a 
deep blush; " and I have heard my name coupled 
with epithets never to be repeated to your pure ears. 
I was so infatuated that, after you left me this morn- 
ing, I sought the counsels of Aspasia, to strengthen 
me in the course I had determined to pursue. As I 
approached her apartment, the voice of Alcibiades 
met my ear. I stopped and listened. I heard him 
exult in his triumph over Hipparete; I heard my 
name joined with Electra, the wanton Corinthian. 
I heard him boast how easily our affections had 
been won ; I heard " 

She paused for a few moments, with a look of 
intense shame, and the tears fell fast upon her robe. 

In gentle tones Philothea said, "These are pre- 
cious tears, Eudora. They will prove like spring- 
showers, bringing forth fragrant blossoms." 

With sudden impulse, the contrite maiden threw 
her arms around her neck, saying, in a subdued 
voice, " Y6u must not be so kind to me — it will 
break my heart." 

By degrees the placid influence of her friend 
calmed her perturbed spirit. "Philothea," she said, 
"I promise with solemn earnestness to tell you every 
action of my life, and every thought of my soul ; but 
never ask me to repeat all I heard at Aspasia's 
dwelling. The words went through my heart like 
poisoned arrows." 

"Nay," replied Philothea, smiling; "they have 
healed, not poisoned." 

Eudora sighed, as she added, "When I came 
away, in anger and in shame, I heard that false 
man singing in mockery : 


" Count me on the summer trees 
Ever}' leaf that courts the breeze ; 
Count me on the foamy deep 
Every wave that sinks to sleep ; 
Then when you have numbered these. 
Billowy tides and leafy trees, 
Count me all the flames I prove, 
All the gentle nymphs I love." 

Fhilothea, how could you, who are so pure your- 
self, see so much clearer than I did the treachery of 
that bad man?" 

The maiden replied, "Mortals, without the aid of 
experience, would always be aware of the presence 
of evil, if they sought to put away the love of it in 
their own hearts, and in silent obedience listened to 
the voice of their guiding spirit. Flowers feel the 
approach of storms, and birds need none to teach 
them the enmity of serpents. This knowledge is 
given to them as perpetually as the sunshine ; and 
they receive it fully, because their little lives are all 
obedience and love." 

" Then, dearest Philothea, you may well know 
when evil approaches. By some mysterious power 
you have ever known my heart better than I myself 
have known it. I now perceive that you told me 
the tru^h when you said I was not blinded by love, 
but by foolish pride. If it were not so, my feelings 
could not so easily have turned to hatred. I have 
more than once tried to deceive you, but you will 
feel that I am not now speaking falsely. The inter- 
view you witnessed was the first and only one I ever 
granted to Alcibiades." 

Philothea freely expressed her belief in this asser- 
tion, and her joy that the real character of the grace- 


ful hypocrite had so soon been made manifest. Her 
thoughts turned towards Philssmon ; but certain re- 
collections restrained the utterance of his name. 
They were both silent for a few moments ; and Eu- 
dora's countenance was troubled. She looked up 
earnestly in her friend's face, but instantly turned 
away her eyes, and fixing them on the ground, said, 
in a low and timid voice, " Do you think Philsemon 
can ever love me again?" 

Philothea felt painfully embarrassed; for when 
she recollected how deeply Philsemon was enamour- 
ed of purity in women, she dared not answer in the 
language of hope. 

While she yet hesitated, Dione came to say that 
her master required the attendance of Eudora alone 
in his apartment. 

Phidias had always exacted implicit obedience 
from his household, and Eudora's gratitude towards 
him had ever been mingled with fear. The con- 
sciousness of recent misconduct filled her with ex- 
treme dread. Her countenance became deadly pale, 
as she turned toward her friend, and said, " Oh, 
Philothea, go with me." 

The firm-hearted maiden took her arm gently 

within her own, and whispered, " Speak the truth, 

and trust in the Divine Powers." 

100 P K I L O T K E A. 


Thus it is ; I have made those 
Averse to me whom nature formed my friends ; 
Those, who from me deserved no ill, to win 
Thy grace, I gave just cause to be my foes ; 
And thou, most vile of men, thou hast betrayed me. 


Phidias was alone, with a large unfinished draw- 
ing before him, on a waxen tablet. Various groups 
of statues were about the room: among which was 
conspicuous the beautiful workmanship of Myron, 
representing a kneeling Paris offering the golden 
apple to Aphrodite ; and by a mode of flattery com- 
mon with Athenian artists, the graceful youth bore 
the features of Alcibiades. Near this group was 
Hera and Pallas, from the hand of Phidias : charac- 
terized by a severe majesty of expression, as they 
looked toward Paris and his voluptuous goddess in 
quiet scorn. 

Stern displeasure was visible in the countenance 
of the great sculptor. As the maidens entered, with 
their faces covered, he looked up, and said coldly, 
"I bade that daughter of unknown parents come 
into my presence unattended." * 

Eudora keenly felt the reproach implied by the 
suppression of her name, which Phidias deemed she 
had dishonoured: and the tremulous motion of her 
veil betrayed her agitation. 

Philothea spoke in a mild, but firm voice: "Son 
of Charmides, by the friendship of my father, I con- 
jure you do not require me to forsake Eudora in this 
hour of great distress." 


In a softened tone, Phidias replied: " The daugh- 
ter of Alcimenes knows that for his sake, and for 
the sake of her own gentle nature, I can refuse her 

"I give thee thanks," rejoined the maiden, u and 
relying on this assurance, I will venture to plead for 
this helpless orphan, whom the gods committed to 
thy charge. The counsels of Aspasia have led her 
into error ; and is the son of Charmides blameless, 
for bringing one so young within the influence of 
that seductive woman?" 

After a short pause, Phidias auswered : " Philo- 
thea, it is true that my pride in her gift of sweet 
sounds first brought her into the presence of that bad 
and dangerous man; it was contrary to Philsemon's 
wishes, too ; and in this **I have erred. If that 
giddy damsel can tell me the meeting in the garden 
was not by her own consent, I will again restore her 
to my confidence. Eudora, can you with truth give 
me this assurance f 3 

Eudora made no reply ; but she trembled so vio- 
lently, that she would have sunk, had she not lean- 
ed on the arm of her friend. 

Philothea, pitying her distress, said, " Son of Char- 
mides, I do not believe Eudora can truly give the 
answer you wish to receive ; but remember in her 
favour that she does not seek to excuse herself by 
falsehood. Alcibiades has had no other interview 
than that one, of which the divine Phoebus sent a 
messenger to warn me in my sleep. For that fault, 
the deluded maiden has already suffered a bitter por- 
tion of shame and grief." 

After a short silence, Phidias spoke: "Eudora, 


when I called you hither, it was with the determin- 
ation of sending you to the temple of Castor and 
Polydeuces, there to be offered for sale to your para- 
mour, who has already tried, in a secret way, to 
purchase you, by the negociation of powerful friends ■ 
but Philothea has not pleaded for you in vain. I 
will not punish your fault so severely as Alcibiades 
ventured to hope. You shall remain under my pro- 
tection. But from henceforth you must never leave 
your own apartment, without my express permis- 
sion, which will not soon be granted. I dare not 
trust your sudden repentance ; and shall therefore 
order a mastiff to be chained to your door. Dione 
will bring you bread and water only. If you fail in 
obedience, the fate I first intended will assuredly be 
yours, without time given for expostulation. Now 
go to the room that opens into the garden ; and there 
remain, till I send Dione to conduct you to your own 

Eudora was so completely humbled, that these 
harsh words aroused no feeling of offended pride. 
Her heart was too full for utterance ; and her eyes 
so blinded with tears, that, as she turned to leave 
the apartment, she frequently stumbled over the scat- 
tered fragments of marble. 

It was a day of severe trials for the poor maiden. 
They had remained but a short time waiting for 
Dione, when Philaemon entered, conducted by Phi- 
dias, who immediately left the apartment. Eudora 
instantly bowed her head upon the couch, and cov- 
ered her face with her hands. 

In a voice tremulous with emotion, the young 
man said, " Eudora, notwithstanding the bitter re- 


collection of where I last saw you, I have earnestly 
wished to see you once more — to hear from your 
own lips whether the interview I witnessed in the 
garden was by your own appointment. Although 
many things in your late conduct have surprised and 
grieved me, I am slow to believe that you could 
have taken a step so unmaidenly; particularly at 
this time, when it has pleased the gods to load me 
with misfortunes. By the affection I once cherish- 
ed, I entreat you to tell me whether that meeting 
was unexpected." 

He waited in vain for any other answer than audi- 
ble sobs. After a slight pause, he continued : " Eu- 
dora, I wait for a reply more positive than silence. 
Let me hear from your own lips the words that must 
decide my destiny. Perchance it is the last favour 
I shall ever ask." 

The repentant maiden, without looking up, an- 
swered, in broken accents, "Philaemoii, I will not 
add deceit to other wrongs, I must speak the truth, 
if my heart is broken. I did consent to that inter- 


The young man bowed his head in silent anguish 
against one of the pillars — his breast heaved, and his 
lips quivered. After a hard struggle with himself, 
he said, "Farewell, Eudora. I shall never again 
intrude upon your presence. Many will natter you ; 
but none will love you as I have loved." 

With a faint shriek, Eudora sprung forward, and 

threw herself at his feet. She would have clasped 

his knees, but he involuntarily recoiled from her 

touch, and gathered the folds of his robe about him. 

Then the arrow entered deeply into her heart. 


She rested her burning forehead against the marble 
pillar, and said, in tones of agonized entreaty, "I 
never met him but once." 

Philothea, who during this scene had wept like an 
infant, laid her hand beseechingly on his arm, and 
added, " Son of Chcerilaus, remember that was the 
only interview." 

Philsemon shook his head mournfully, as he re- 
plied, " But I cannot forget that it was an appointed 
one. — We can never meet again." 

He turned hastily to leave the room ; but lingered 
on the threshold, and looked back upon Eudora with 
an expression of unutterable sadness. 

Philothea perceived the countenance of her un- 
happy friend grow rigid beneath his gaze. She hast- 
ened to raise her from the ground whereon she knelt, 
and received her senseless in her arms. 



Fare thee well, perfidious maid ! 

My soul, — its fondest hopes betrayed, 

Betrayed, perfidious girl, by thee, — 

Is now on wing for liberty. 

I fly to seek a kindlier sphere, 

Since thou hast ceased to love me here. 


Not long after the parting interview with Endora, 
Philemon, sad and solitary, slowly wended his way 
from Athens. As he passed along the banks of the 
Illyssus, he paused for a moment, and stood with 
folded arms, before the chaste and beautiful little 
temple of Agrotera, the huntress with the unerring 

The temple was shaded by lofty plane trees, and 
thickly intertwined willows, among which trans- 
parent rivulets glided in quiet beauty ; while the 
marble nymphs, with which the grove was adorned, 
looked modestly down upon the sparkling waters, 
as if awe-stricken by the presence of their sylvan 

A well-known voice said, " Enter Philamion. It 
is a beautiful retreat. The soft verdant grass tempts 
to repose ; a gentle breeze brings fragrance from the 
blossoms ; and the grasshoppers are chirping with a 
summer-like and sonorous sound. Enter, my son." 

"Thanks, Anaxagoras," replied Philsemon, as he 
moved forward to give and receive the cordial salu- 
tation of his friend: " I have scarcely travelled far 
enough to need repose ; but the day is sultry, and 
this balmy air is indeed refreshing." 


" Whither leads your path, my son ?" inquired the 
good old man. " I perceive that no servant follows 
you with a seat whereon to rest, when you wish to 
enjoy the prospect, and your garments are girded 
about you, like one who travels afar." 

"I seek Mount Hymettus, my father," replied 
Phileemon: " There I shall stop to-night, to take my 
last look of Athens. To-morrow, I join a company 
on their way to Persia; where they say Athenian 
learning is eagerly sought by the Great King and 
his nobles." 

"And would you have left Athens without my 
blessing?" inquired Anaxagoras. 

"In truth, my father, I wished to avoid the pain 
of parting," rejoined Philsemon. " Not even my be- 
loved Paralus is aware that the homeless outcast of 
ungrateful Athens has left her walls forever." 

The aged philosopher endeavoured to speak, but 
his voice was tremulous with emotion. After a 
short pause, he put his arm within Philsemon's, and 
said, "My son, we will journey together. I shall 
easily find my way back to Athens before the lamps 
of evening are lighted." 

The young man spoke of the wearisome walk ; 
and reminded him that Ibycus, the beloved of the 
gods, was murdered while returning to the city after 
twilight. But the philosopher replied, "My old 
limbs are used to fatigue, and everybody knows that 
the plain robe of Anaxagoras conceals no gold." 

As they passed along through the smiling fields of 
Agra, the cheerfulness of the scene redoubled the 
despondency of the exile. Troops of laughing girls 
were returning from the vineyards with baskets full 


of grapes; women were grinding corn, singing mer- 
rily, as they toiled; groups of boys were throwing 
quoits, or seated on the grass eagerly playing at dice, 
and anon filling the air with their shouts ; in one 
place was a rural procession in honour of Dionysus ; 
in another, loads of pure Pentelic marble were on 
their way from the quarry, to increase the architec- 
tural glory of Athens. 

"I could almost envy that senseless stone!" ex- 
claimed Philaemon. "It goes where I have spent 
many a happy hour, and where I shall never enter 
more. It is destined for the Temple of the Muses, 
which Plato is causing to be built among the olive- 
groves of Academus. The model is more beauti- 
fully simple than anything I have ever seen." 

" The grove of Academus is one of the few places 
now remaining where virtue is really taught and en- 
couraged," rejoined Anaxagoras. "As for these 
new teachers, misnamed philosophers, they are rap- 
idly hastening the decay of a state whose diseases 
produced them." 

"A few days since, I heard one of the sophists 
talking to crowds of people in the old Agora," said 
Philssmon; " and truly his doctrines formed a strange 
contrast with the severe simplicity of virtue ex- 
pressed in the countenances of Solon, Aristides, and 
the other godlike statues that stood around him. 
He told the populace that it was unquestionably a 
great blessing to commit an injury with impunity ; 
but as there was more evil in suffering an injury 
than there was good in committing one, it was 
necessary to have the subject regulated by laws : 
that justice, correctly defined, meant nothing more 


than the interest of the strongest ; that a just man 
always fared worse than the unjust, because he 
neglected to aggrandize himself by dishonest actions, 
and thus became unpopular among his acquaint- 
ances; while those who were less scrupulous, grew 
rich and were flattered. He said the weak very 
naturally considered justice as a common right; but 
he who had power, if he had likewise courage, would 
never submit to any such agreement : that they who 
praised virtue, did it because they had some object 
to gain from those who had less philosophy than 
themselves; and these pretended worthies, if they 
could act invisibly, would soon be found in the same 
path with the villain. He called rhetoric the noblest 
of the arts, because it enabled an ignorant man to 
appear to know as much as one who was thoroughly 
master of his subject. Some of the people demanded 
what he had to say of the gods, since he had spoken 
so ably of men. With an unpleasant mixture of de- 
rision and feigned humility, the sophist replied, that 
he left such vast subjects to be discussed by the im- 
mortal Socrates. He forthwith left the Agora, and 
many a loud laugh and profane jest followed his 
departure. When such doctrines can be uttered 
without exciting indignation, it is easy to foresee 
the destinies of the state." 

" Thucydides speaks truly," rejoined Anaxagoras : 
"In the history he is writing, he says, — The Athenian 
people are beginning to be more fond of calling dis- 
honest men able, than simple men honest ; and that 
statesmen begin to be ashamed of the more worthy 
title, while they take pride in the other : thus sin- 
cerity, of which there is much in generous natures, 


will be laughed down; while wickedness and hy- 
pocrisy are everywhere triumphant." 

" But evil grows weary of wearing a mask in re- 
luctant homage to good," replied Philsemon ; "she 
is ever seeking to push it aside, with the hope that 
men may become accustomed to her face, and find 
more beauty therein, than in the disguise she wears. 
The hidden thought at last struggles forth into ex- 
pression, and cherished passions assume a form in 
action. One of the sophists has already given notice 
that he can teach any young man how to prove that 
right is wrong, or wrong is right. It is said that 
Xanthippus has sent his son to benefit by these in- 
structions, with a request that he may learn the art 
thoroughly, but be taught to use it only in the right 

"Your words are truth, my son," answered the 
philosopher ; u and the blame should rest on those 
who taint 'the stream at its source, rather than with 
them who thoughtlessly drink of it in its wanderings. 
The great and the gifted of Athens, instead of yield- 
ing reverent obedience to the unchangeable principle 
of truth, have sought to make it the servant of their 
own purposes. Forgetful of its eternal nature, they 
strive to change it into arbitrary forms of their own 
creating; and then marvel because other minds pre- 
sent it in forms more gross and disgusting than their 
own. They do not ask what is just or unjust, true 
or untrue, but content themselves with recommending 
virtue, as far as it advances interest, or contributes 
to popularity ; and when virtue ceases to be fashion- 
able, the multitude can no longer find a satisfac- 
tory reason for adhering to it. But when the teach- 


ers of the populace hear their vulgar pupils boldly 
declare that vice is as good as virtue, provided a man 
can follow it with success, pride prevents them 
from seeing that this maxim is one of their own doc- 
trines stripped of its equestrian robes, and shown in 
democratic plainness. They did not venture to de- 
ride the gods, or even to assert that they took no 
cognizance of human affairs; but they declared 
that offences against divine beings might be easily 
atoned for by a trifling portion of their own gifts — a 
sheep, a basket of fruit, or a few grains of salt, offer- 
ed at stated seasons, with becoming decorum ; and 
then when alone together, they smiled that such con- 
cessions were necessary to satisfy the superstitions 
of the vulgar. But disbelief in divine beings, and 
the eternal nature of truth, cannot long be concealed 
by pouring the usual libations, or maintaining a cau- 
tious reserve. The whispered opinions of false phi- 
losophers will soon be loudly echoed by the popular 
voice, which is less timid, because it is more honest. 
Even thus did Midas laboriously conceal the defor- 
mity of his head ; but his barber, who saw him 
without disguise, whispered his secret in the earth, 
and when the winds arose, the voices of a thousand 
reeds proclaimed to the world, ' King Midas hath 
ass's ears.' " 

"The secret has already been whispered to the 
ground," answered Philsemon, smiling: "If it were 
not so, the comic writers would not be able to give 
with impunity such grotesque and disgusting repre- 
sentations of the gods." 

"And yet," rejoined the old man, "I hear that 
Hermippus, who has himself personified Hera on the 


stage, as an angry woman attempting to strike infu- 
riated Zeus, is about to arraign me before the pub- 
lic tribunal, because I said the sun was merely a 
great ball of fire. This he construes into blasphemy 
against the life-giving Phoebus." 

" The accusation may be thus worded," said Phi- 
lsemon ; " but your real crime is that you stay away 
from political assemblies, and are therefore suspected 
of being unfriendly to democratic institutions. De- 
mos reluctantly admits that the right to hold such 
opinions is an inherent part of liberty. Soothe the 
vanity of the dicasts by humble acknowledgments, 
and gratify their avarice by a plentiful distribution 
of drachmae ; flatter the self-conceit of the Athenians, 
by assurances that they are the greatest, most glori- 
ous, and most consistent people upon earth ; be care- 
ful that Cleon the tanner, and Thearion the baker, 
and Theophrastus the maker of lyres, are suppli- 
cated and praised in due form — and, take my word 
for it, the' gods will be left to punish you for what- 
ever offences you commit against them. They will 
receive no* assistance from the violet-crowned city." 

"And you, my son," replied the philosopher, 
" would never have been exiled from Athens, if you 
had debated in the porticos with young citizens, who 
love to exhibit their own skill in deciding whether 
the true cause of the Trojan war were Helen, or the 
ship that carried her away, or the man that built the 
ship, or the wood whereof it was made ; if in your 
style you had imitated the swelling pomp of Isago- 
ras, where one solitary idea is rolled over and over 
in an ocean of words, like a small pearl tossed about 
in the iEgean ; if you had supped with Hyperbolus, 


or been seen in the agoras, walking arm in arm with 
Cleon. With such a man as you to head their party, 
Pericles could not always retain the ascendancy, by 
a more adroit use of their own weapons." 

"As soon would I league myself with the Odo- 
mantians of Thrace !" exclaimed Philaemon, with 
an expression of strong disgust. "It is such men 
who destroy the innocence of a republic, and cause 
that sacred name to become a mockery among ty- 
rants. The mean-souled wretches ! Men who take 
from the poor daily interest for a drachma, and 
spend it in debauchery. Citizens who applauded Per- 
icles because he gave them an obolus for a vote, and 
are now willing to see him superseded by any man 
that will give two oboli instead of one ! No, my 
father — I could unite with none but an honest party 
— men who love the state and forget themselves ; 
and such are not now found in Athens. The few 
that exist dare not form a barrier against the power- 
ful current that would inevitably drive them to de- 

"You speak truth, Philsemon," rejoined Anaxa- 
goras : "Pallas Athenee seems to have deserted her 
chosen people. The proud Spartans openly laugh 
at our approaching downfall, while the smooth Per- 
sians watch for a favourable moment to destroy the 
freedom already rendered so weak by its own in- 

" The fault will be attributed to democratic princi- 
ples," said Philsemon ; " but the real difficulty exists 
in that love of power which hides itself beneath the 
mask of Democracy, until a corrupted public can 
endure its undisguised features without execration, 


No one can believe that Pericles lessened the power 
of the Areopagus from a sincere conviction that it 
was for the good of the people. It was done to ob- 
tain personal influence, by purchasing the favour of 
those who had sufficient reasons for desiring a less 
equitable tribunal. Nor could he have ever suppos- 
ed that the interests of the republic would be ad- 
vanced by men whom the gift of an obolus could 
induce to vote. The Athenians have been spoiled 
by ambitious demagogues, who now try to surfeit 
them with flattery, as nurses seek to pacify noisy 
children with sponges dipped in honey. They strive 
to drown the din of domestic discord in boasts of 
foreign conquests ; and seek to hide corruption in a 
blaze of glory, as they concealed their frauds amid 
the flames of the treasury." 

"Pericles no doubt owes his great popularity to 
skill in availing himself of existing circumstances," 
replied Anaxagoras ; " and I am afraid that the same 
motives for corrupting, and the same willingness 
to be corrupted, will always be found in democratic 

"It has always been matter of surprise to me," 
said Philaemon, " that one so humble and frugal as 
yourself, and so zealous for the equal rights of all 
men, even the meanest citizens, should yet be so lit- 
tle friendly to that popular idol which the Athenians 
call Demos." 

The philosopher rejoined : " When I was young, 
I heard it^aid of Lycurgus, that being asked why 
he, who was such a friend to equality, did not be- 
stow a democratic government upon Sparta, he an- 
swered : u Go and try a democracy in your own 


house." The reply pleased me; and a long resi- 
dence in Athens has not yet taught me to believe 
that a man who is governed by ten thousand mas- 
ters has more freedom than he who is governed by 

"If kings had the same natural affection for their 
subjects that parents have for their children, the com- 
parison of Lycurgus would be just," answered Phi- 

"And what think you of the paternal kindness of 
this republican decree whereby five thousand citi- 
zens have been sold into slavery, because the unjust 
confiscation of their estates rendered them unable to 
pay their debts?" said Anaxagoras. 

'■'Such an edict was passed because Athens is not 
a republic," replied Philsemon. "All things are un- 
der the control of Pericles ; and Aspasia rules him. 
When she heard that I remonstrated against his 
shameful marriage, she said she would sooner or 
later bring a Trojan horse into my house. She has 
fulfilled her threat by the same means that enabled 
Pericles to destroy the political power of some of his 
most influential enemies." 

'•'Pericles has indeed obtained unbounded influ- 
ence," rejoined Anaxagoras ; " but he did it by coun- 
terfeiting the very principle that needed to be check- 
ed ; and this is so easily counterfeited, that demo- 
cracy is always in danger of becoming tyranny in 
disguise. The Athenians are as servile to their 
popular idol, as the Persians to their hereditary one ; 
but the popular idol seeks to sustain his power by 
ministering to that love of change, which allows no- 
thing to remain sacred and established. Hence, two 


opposite evils are combined in action — the reality of 
despotism with the form of democracy; the power 
of a tyrant with the irresponsibility of a multitude. 
But, in judging of Pericles, you, my son, should strive 
to guard against political enmity, as I do against 
personal affection. It cannot be denied that he has 
often made good use of his influence. When Cimon 
brought the remains of Theseus to Athens, and a 
temple was erected over them in obedience to the 
oracle, it was he who suggested to the people that a 
hero celebrated for relieving the oppressed could not 
be honoured more appropriately than by making his 
temple a refuge for abused slaves." 

" Friendly as I am to a government truly republi- 
can," answered Philaemon, "it is indeed difficult to 
forgive the man who seduces a democracy to the 
commission of suicide, for his own advancement. 
His great abilities would receive my admiration, if 
they were not employed in the service of ambition. 
As for this new edict, it will prove a rebounding 
arrow, striking him who sent it. He will find ten 
enemies for one in the kindred of the banished." 

" While we have been talking thus sadly," said 
the old philosopher, " the fragrant thyme and mur- 
muring bees give cheerful notice that we are ap- 
proaching Mount Hymettus. I see the worthy pea- 
sant, Tellus, from whom I have often received re- 
freshment of bread and grapes ; and if it please you 
we will share his bounty now." 

The peasant respectfully returned their friendly 
greeting, and readily furnished clusters from his lux- 
uriant vineyard. As the travellers seated themselves 


beneath the shelter of the vines, Tellus asked, " What 
news from Athens?" 

"None of importance," replied Anaxagoras, "ex- 
cepting rumours of approaching war, and this new 
edict, by which so many citizens are suddenly re- 
duced to poverty." 

" There are always those in Athens who are like 
the eel-catchers, that choose to have the waters trou- 
bled," observed the peasant. "When the lake is 
still, they lose their labour ; but when the mud is 
well stirred, they take eels in plenty. My son says 
he gets twelve oboli for a conger-eel, in the Athenian 
markets ; and that is a goodly price." 

The travellers smiled, and contented themselves 
with praising his grapes, without further allusion to 
the politics of Athens. But Tellus resumed the dis- 
course, by saying, " So, I hear my old neighbour, 
Philargus, has been tried for idleness." 

" Even so," rejoined Anaxagoras ; " and his con- 
demnation has proved the best luck he ever had. 
The severe sentence of death was changed into a 
heavy fine ; and Lysidas, the Spartan, immediately 
begged to be introduced to him, as the only gentle- 
man he had seen or heard of in Athens. He has 
paid the fine for him, and invited him to Lacedse- 
mon ; that he may show his proud countrymen 
one Athenian who does not disgrace himself by in- 

" That comes of having the Helots among them," 
said Tellus. " My boy married a Spartan wife, and 
I can assure you she is a woman that looks light- 
ning, and speaks mustard. When my son first told 


her to take the fish from his basket, she answered 
angrily, that she was no Helot." 

" I heard this same Lysidas, the other day," said 
Philsemon, "boasting that the Spartans were the 
only real freemen ; and Lacedsemon the only place 
where courage and virtue always found a sure reward. 
I asked him what reward the Helots had for bravery 
or virtue. ' They are not scourged ; and that is suffi- 
cient reward for the base hounds,' was his contempt- 
uous reply. He approves the law forbidding masters 
to bestow freedom on their slaves ; and likes the cus- 
tom which permits boys to whip them, merely to re- 
mind them of their bondage. He ridicules the idea 
that injustice will weaken the strength of Sparta, 
because the gods are enemies to injustice. He says 
the sun of liberty shines brighter with the dark at- 
mosphere of slavery around it ; as temperance seems 
more lovely to the Spartan youth, after they have 
seen the Helots made beastly drunk for their amuse- 
ment. He seems to forget that the passions are the 
same in every human breast ; and that it is never 
wise in any state to create natural enemies at her 
own doors. But the Lacedaemonians make it a rule 
never to speak of danger from their slaves. They 
remind me of the citizens of Amyclss, who, having 
been called from their occupations by frequent ru- 
mours of war, passed a vote that no man should be 
allowed, under heavy penalties, to believe any report 
of intended invasion. When the enemy really came, 
no man dared to speak of their approach, and Amy- 
else was easily conquered. Lysidas boasted of salu- 
tary cruelty ; and in the same breath told me the 
Helots loved their masters." 


" As the Spartan boys love Orthia, at whose altar 
they yearly receive a bloody whipping," said Tellus, 

" There is one great mistake in Lacedaemonian 
institutions," observed Anaxagoras : " They seek to 
avoid the degrading love of money, by placing every 
citizen above the necessity of laborious occupation; 
but they forget that the love of tyranny may prove 
an evil still more dangerous to the state." 

" You speak justly, my father," answered Philse- 
mon : " The Athenian law, which condemns any 
man for speaking disrespectfully of his neighbour's 
trade, is most wise ; and it augurs ill for Athens that 
some of her young equestrians begin to think it unbe- 
coming to bring home provisions for their own din- 
ner from the agoras." 

" Alcibiades, for instance!" exclaimed the philo- 
sopher: " He would consider himself disgraced toy 
any other burthen than his fighting quails, which ke 
carries out to take the air." 

Phiiaemoii started up suddenly — for the name of 
Alcibiades stung him like a serpent. Immediately 
recovering his composure, he turned to recompense 
the hospitality of the honest peasant, and to bid him 
a friendly farewell. 

But Tellus answered bluntly; " No, young Athe- 
nian ; I like your sentiments, and will not touch 
your coin. The gods bless you." 

The travellers having heartily returned his part- 
ing benediction, slowly ascended Mount Hymettus. 
When they paused to rest upon its summit, a glori- 
ous prospect lay stretched out before them. On the 
north, were Megara, Eleusis, and the cynosure of 


Marathon; in the south, numerous islands, like a 
flock of birds, reposed on the bright bosom of the 
iEgean; to the west, was the broad Piraeus with its 
thousand ships, and Athens in all her magnificence 
of beauty; while the stately buildings of distant 
Corinth mingled with the cloudless sky. The decli- 
ning sun threw his refulgent mantle over the lovely 
scene, and temples, towers, and villas glowed in the 
purple light. 

The travellers stood for a few moments in perfect 
silence — Philsemon with folded arms, and Anaxa- 
goras leaning on his staff. At length, in tones of 
deep emotion, the young man exclaimed, "Oh, 
Athens, how I have loved thee ! Thy glorious ex- 
istence has been a part of my own being ! For thy 
prosperity how freely would I have poured out my 
blood ! The gods bless thee, and save thee from 

"Who could look upon her and not bless her in 
his heart?" said the old philosopher: "There she 
stands, fair as the heaven-born Pallas, in all her vir- 
gin majesty ! But alas for Athens, when every man 
boasts of his own freedom, and no man respects the 
freedom of his neighbour. Peaceful, she seems, in 
her glorious beauty ; but the volcano is heaving 
within, and already begins to throw forth its showers 
of smoke and stones." 

" Would that the gods had permitted me to share 
her dangers — to die and mingle with her beloved 
soil !" exclaimed Philaemon. 

The venerable philosopher looked up, and saw 
intense wretchedness in the countenance of his 
youthful friend. He laid his hand kindly upon 


Philaemon's arm; "Nay, my son," said he, "You 
must not take this unjust decree so much to heart. 
Of Athens nothing can be so certainly predicted as 
change. Things as trifling as the turning of a shell 
may restore you to your rights. You can even now 
return, if you will submit to be a mere sojourner in 
Athens. After all, what vast privileges do you lose 
with your citizenship. You must indeed wrestle at 
Cynosarges, instead of the Lyceum or the Academia ; 
but in this, the great Themistocles has given you 
honourable example. You will not be allowed to 
enter the theatre while the Athenians keep the sec- 
ond day of their festival Anthesteria ; but to balance 
this privation, you are forbidden to vote, and are thus 
freed from all blame belonging to unjust and capri- 
cious laws." 

"My father, playful words cannot cure the wound," 
replied the exile, seriously : " The cherished recol- 
lections of years cannot be so easily torn from the 
heart. Athens, with all her faults, is still my own, 
my beautiful, my beloved land. They might have 
killed me, if they would, if I had but died an Athe- 
nian citizen." 

He spoke with a voice deeply agitated ; but after 
a few moments of forced composure, he continued 
more cheerfully : " Let us speak of other subjects. 
We are standing here, on the self-same spot where 
Aristo and Perictione laid the infant Plato, while 
they sacrificed to the life-giving Phoebus. It was 
here th« bees clustered about his infant mouth, and 
his mother hailed the omen of his future eloquence. 
Commend me to that admirable man, and tell him I 


shall vainly seek throughout the world to find an- 
other Plato. 

"Commend me likewise to the Persian Artapher- 
nes. To his bounty I am much indebted. Lest he 
should hope that I carry away feelings hostile to 
Athens, and favourable to her enemies, say to the 
kind old man, that Philsemon will never forget, his 
country or his friends. I have left a long letter to 
Paralus, in which my full heart has but feebly ex- 
pressed its long-cherished friendship. When you 
return, you will find a trifling token of remembrance 
for yourself and Philothea. May Pallas shower her 
richest blessings upon that pure and gifted maiden." 

With some hesitation, Anaxagoras said, "You 
make no mention of Eudora; and I perceive that 
both you and Philothea are reserved when her name 
is mentioned. Do not believe every idle rumour, 
my son. The gayety of a light-hearted maiden is 
often unmixed with boldness, or crime. Do not cast 
her from you too lightly." 

Philasmon averted his face for a moment, and 
struggled hard with his feelings. Then turning ab- 
ruptly, he pressed the old man's hand, and said, "Bid 
Philothea, guide and cherish her deluded friend, for 
rny sake. And now, farewell, Anaxagoras ! Fare- 
well, forever ! my kind, my good old master. May 
the gods bless the wise counsels and virtuous exam- 
ple you have given me." 

The venerable philosopher stretched forth his arms 
to embrace him. The young man threw himself 
upon that friendly bosom, and overcome by a variety 
of conflicting emotions, sobbed aloud. 

122 P H I L O T H E A. 

As they parted, Anaxagoras again pressed Philse- 
mon to his heart, and said, " May that God, whose 
numerous attributes the Grecians worship, forever 
bless thee, my dear son." 



Courage, Orestes ! if the lots hit right, 

If the black pebbles don't exceed the white, 

You're safe. 


Pericles sought to please the populace by openly 
using his influence to diminish the power of the 
Areopagus; and a decree had been passed that those 
who denied the existence of the gods, or introduced 
new opinions about celestial things, should be tried 
by the people. This event proved fortunate for some 
of his personal friends; for Hermippus soon laid 
before the Thesmothetss Archons an accusation of 
blasphemy against Anaxagoras, Phidias, and Aspa- 
sia. The case was tried before the fourth Assembly 
of the people ; and the fame of the accused, together 
with the well-known friendship of Pericles, attracted 
an immense crowd; insomuch that the Prytaneum 
was crowded to overflowing. The prisoners came 
in, attended by the Phylarchi of their different 
wards. Anaxagoras retained his usual bland ex- 
pression and meek dignity. Phidias walked with a 
haughtier tread, and carried his head more proudly. 
Aspasia was veiled ; but as she glided along, grace- 
fully as a swan on the bosom of still waters, loud 
murmurs of approbation were heard from the crowd. 
Pericles seated himself near them, with deep sadness 
on his brow. The moon had not completed its revo- 
lution since he had seen Phidias arraigned before the 
Second Assembly of the people, charged by Menon, 
one of his own pupils, with having defrauded the 


state of gold appropriated to the statue of Pallas. 
Fortunately, the sculptor had arranged the precious 
metal so that it could be taken off and weighed; and 
thus his innocence was easily made manifest. But 
the great statesman had seen, by many indications, 
that the blow was in part aimed at himself through 
his friends ; and that his enemies were thus trying to 
ascertain how far the people could be induced to act 
in opposition to his well-known wishes. The cause 
had been hurried before the assembly, and he per- 
ceived that his opponents were there in great num- 
bers. As soon as the Epistates began to read the 
accusation, Pericles leaned forward, and burying his 
face in his robe, remained motionless. 

Anaxagoras was charged with not having offered 
victims to the gods : and with having blasphemed 
the divine Phoebus, by saying the sun was only a 
huge ball of fire. Being called upon to answer 
whether he were guilty of this offence, he replied : 
" Living victims I have never sacrificed to the gods; 
because, like the Pythagoreans, I object to the shed- 
ding of blood ; but, like the disciples of their sublime 
philosopher, I have duly offered on their altars small 
goats and rams made of wax. I did say I believed 
the sun to be a great ball of fire ; and deemed not 
that in so doing I had blasphemed the divine 

When he had finished, it was proclaimed aloud 
that any Athenian, not disqualified by law, might 
speak. Cleon arose, and said it was well known to 
the disciples of Anaxagoras, that he taught the ex- 
istence of but one God. Euripides, Pericles, and 
others who had been his pupils, were separately 


called to bear testimony ; and all said he taught One 
Universal Mind, of which all other divinities were 
the attributes ; even as Homer represented the infe- 
rior deities subordinate to Zeus. 

When the philosopher was asked whether he be- 
lieved in the gods, he answered, " I do : but I believe 
in them as the representatives of various attributes in 
One Universal Mind." He was then required to 
swear by all the gods, and by the dreaded Erinnys, 
that he had spoken truly. 

The Prytanes informed the assembly that their 
vote must decide whether this avowed doctrine ren- 
dered Anaxagoras of Clazomenoe worthy of death. 
A brazen urn was carried round, in which every 
citizen deposited a pebble. When counted, the black 
pebbles predominated over the white, and Anaxa- 
goras was condemned to die. 

The old man heard it very calmly, and replied : 
''Nature pronounced that sentence upon me before I 
was born. Do what you will, Athenians, ye can only 
injure the outward case of Anaxagoras ; the real, im- 
mortal Anaxagoras is beyond your power." 

Phidias was next arraigned, and accused of blas- 
phemy, in having carved the likeness of himself and 
Pericles on the shield of heaven-born Pallas; and of 
having said that he approved the worship of the 
gods, merely because he wished to have his own 
works adored. The sculptor proudly replied, l l 
never declared that my own likeness, or that of 
Pericles, was on the shield of heaven-born Pallas; 
nor can any Athenian prove that I ever intended to 
place them there. I am not answerable for offences 
which have their origin in the eyes of the multitude. 


If their quick discernment be the test, crimes may be 
found written even on the glowing embers of our 
household altars. I never said I approved the wor- 
ship of the gods because I wished to have my own 
works adored ; for I should have deemed it irrever- 
ent thus to speak of divine beings. Some learned 
and illustrious guests, who were at the symposium 
in Aspasia's house, discoursed concerning the wor- 
ship of images, apart from the idea of any divine 
attributes, which they represented. I said I approved 
not of this; and playfully added, that if it were other- 
wise, I might perchance be excused for sanctioning 
the worship of mere images, since mortals were ever 
willing to have their own works adored." The tes- 
timony of Pericles, Alcibiades, and Plato, confirmed 
the truth of his words. 

Cleon declared it was commonly believed that 
Phidias decoyed the maids and matrons of Athens to 
his house, under the pretence of seeing sculpture; 
but in reality to minister to the profligacy of Pericles. 
The sculptor denied the charge ; and required that 
proof should be given of one Athenian woman, who 
had visited his house, unattended by her husband or 
her father. The enemies of Pericles could easily 
have procured such evidence with gold ; but when 
Cleon sought again to speak, the Prytanes com- 
manded silence ; and briefly reminded the people 
that the Fourth Assembly had power to decide con- 
cerning religious matters only. Hermippus, in a 
speech of considerable length, urged that Phidias 
seldom sacrificed to the gods; and that he must have 
intended likenesses on the shield of Pallas, because 
even Athenian children recognized them. 


The brazen urn was again passed round, and the 
black pebbles were more numerous than they had 
been when the fate of Anaxagoras was decided. 
When Phidias heard the sentence, he raised himself 
to his full stature, and waving his right arm over the 
crowd, said, in a loud voice: "Phidias can never 
die ! Athens herself will live in the fame of Char- 
mides' son." His majestic figure and haughty bear- 
ing awed the multitude ; and some, repenting of the 
vote they had given, said, "Surely, invisible Phcebus 
is with him !" 

Aspasia was next called to answer the charges 
brought against her. She had dressed herself in 
deep mourning, as if appealing to the compassion of 
the citizens; and her veil was artfully arranged to 
display an arm and shoulder of exquisite whiteness 
and beauty, contrasted with glossy ringlets of dark 
hair, that carelessly rested on it. She was accused 
of saying that the sacred baskets of Demeter con- 
tained nothing of so much importance as the beauti- 
ful maidens who carried them ; and that the temple 
of Poseidon was enriched with no offerings from 
those who had been wrecked, notwithstanding their 
supplications — thereby implying irreverent doubts of 
the power of Ocean's god. To this, Aspasia, in clear 
and musical tones, replied: "I said not that the 
sacred baskets of Demeter contained nothing of so 
much importance as the beautiful maidens who car- 
ried them. But, in playful allusion to the love of 
beauty, so conspicuous in Alcibiades, I said that he, 
who was initiated into the mysteries of Eleusis, 
might think the baskets less attractive than the 
loyely maidens who carried them. Irreverence was 


not in my thoughts ; but inasmuch as my careless 
words implied it, I have offered atoning sacrifices to 
the mother of Persephone, during which I abstained 
from all amusements. When I declared that the 
temple of Poseidon contained no offerings in com- 
memoration of men that had been wrecked, I said it 
in reproof of those who fail to supplicate the gods 
for the manes of the departed. They who perish on 
the ocean, may have offended Poseidon, or the Virgin 
Sisters of the Deep; and on their altars should offer- 
ings be laid by surviving friends. 

"No man can justly accuse me of disbelief in the 
gods ; for it is well known that with every changing 
moon I offer on the altars of Aphrodite, doves and 
sparrows, with baskets of apples, roses and myrtles : 
and who in Athens has not seen the ivory car drawn 
by golden swans, which the grateful Aspasia placed 
in the temple of that love-inspiring deity?' 1 

Phidias could scarcely restrain a smile, as he lis- 
tened to this defence; and when the fair casuist 
swore by all the gods, and by the Erinnys, that she 
had spoken truly, Anaxagoras looked up involunta- 
rily, with an expression of child-like astonishment. 
Alcibiades promptly corroborated her statement. 
Plato, being called to testify, gravely remarked that 
she had uttered those words, and she alone could 
explain her motives. The populace seemed im- 
pressed in her favour ; and when it was put to vote 
whether sentence of death should be passed, an uni- 
versal murmur arose, of " Exile ! Exile !" 

The Epistates requested that all who wished to 
consider it a question of exile, rather than of death, 
would signify the same by holding up their hands, 


With very few exceptions, the crowd were inclined 
to mercy. Hermippus gave tokens of displeasure, 
and hastily rose to accuse Aspasia of corrupting the 
youth of Athens, by the introduction of singing and 
dancing women, and by encouraging the matrons of 
Greece to appear unveiled. 

A loud laugh followed his remarks; for the comic 
actor was himself far from aiding public morals by 
an immaculate example. 

The Prytanes again reminded him that charges of 
this nature must be decided by the First Assembly 
of the people ; and, whether true or untrue, ought 
to have no influence on religious questions brought 
before the Fourth Assembly. 

Hermippus was perfectly aware of this; but he 
deemed that the vote might be affected by his artful 

The brazen urn was again carried round; and 
fifty-one pebbles only appeared in disapprobation of 

Then Pericles arose, and looked around him with 
calm dignity. He was seldom seen in public, even 
at entertainments; hence, something of sacredness 
was attached to his person, like the Salaminian gal- 
ley reserved for great occasions. A murmur Jike the 
distant ocean was heard, as men whispered to each 
other, " Lo, Pericles is about to speak !" When the 
tumult subsided, he said, in a loud voice, "If any 
here can accuse Pericles of having enriched himself 
at the expense of the state, let him hold up his right 
hand !" 

Not a hand was raised — for his worst enemies 
could not deny that he was temperate and frugal. 


After a slight pause, he again resumed : "If any 
man can show that Pericles ever asked a public 
favour for himself or his friends, let him speak !" 

No words were uttered ; but a murmur of discon- 
tent was heard in the vicinity of Cleon and Her- 

The illustrious statesman folded his arms, and 
waited in quiet majesty for the murmur to assume a 
distinct form. When all was hashed, he continued : 
"If any man believes that Athens has declined in 
beauty, wealth, or power, since the administration 
of Pericles, let him give his opinion freely !" 

National enthusiasm was kindled ; and many voices 
exclaimed, " Hail Pericles ! All hail to Athens in her 
glory !" 

The statesman gracefully waved his hand toward 
the multitude, as he replied, " Thanks, friends and 
brother-citizens. Who among you is disposed to 
grant to Pericles one favour, not inconsistent with 
your laws, or in opposition to the decrees of this 

A thousand hands were instantly raised. Pericles 
again expressed his thanks, and said, " The favour 
I have to ask is, that the execution of these decrees 
be suspended, until the oracle of Amphiaraus can be 
consulted. If it please yon, let a vote be taken who 
shall be the messenger." 

The proposal was accepted ; and Antiphon, acele- 
'brated diviner, appointed to consult the oracle. 

As the crowd dispersed, Cleon muttered to Her- 
mippus, "By Circe! I believe he has given the 
Athenians philtres to make them love him. No won- 
der Archidamus of Sparta said, that when he threw 


Pericles in wrestling, he insisted he was never down, 
and persuaded the very spectators to believe him." 

Anaxagoras and Phidias, being under sentence of 
death, were placed in prison, until the people should 
finally decide upon their fate. The old philosopher 
cheerfully employed his hours in attempts to square 
the circle. The sculptor carved a wooden image, 
with many hands and feet, arid without a head ; 
upon the pedestal of which he inscribed Demos, and 
secretly reserved it as a parting gift to the Athenian 

Before another moon had waned, Antiphon return- 
ed from Oropus, whither he had been sent to consult 
the oracle. Being called before the people, he gave 
the following account of his mission: "I abstained 
from food until Phoebus had twice appeared above 
the hills, in his golden chariot ; and for three days 
and three nights, I tasted no wine. When I had 
thus purined myself, I offered a white ram to Amphi- 
araus ; and spreading the skin on the ground, I in- 
voked the blessing of Phoebus and his prophetic son, 
and laid me down to sleep. Methought I walked in 
the streets of Athens. A lurid light shone on the 
walls of the Piraeus, and spread into the city, until 
all the Acropolis seemed glowing beneath a fiery 
sky. I looked up — and lo ! the heavens were in a 
blaze ! Huge masses of flame were thrown backward 
and forward, as if Pandamator and the Cyclops were 
hurling their forges at each other's heads. Amazed, 
I turned to ask the meaning of these phenomena ; 
and I saw that all the citizens were clothed in black ; 
and wherever two were walking together, one fell 
dead by his side. Then I he'ard a mighty voice, 


that seemed to proceed from within the Parthenon. 
Three times it pronounced distinctly, ' Wo ! wo ! 
wo unto Athens ! 

" I awoke, and after a time slept again. I heard a 
rumbling noise, like thunder ; and from the statue 
of Amphiaraus came a voice, saying, ' Life is given 
by the gods.' 

" Then all was still. Presently I again heard a 
sound like the multitudinous waves of ocean, when 
it rises in a storm — and Amphiaraus said, slowly, 
1 Count the pebbles on the sea-shore — yea, count 
them twice.' Then I awoke ; and having bathed in 
the fountain, I threw therein three pieces of gold and 
silver, and departed." 

The people demanded of Antiphon the meaning 
of these visions. He replied: "The first portends 
calamity to Athens, either of war or pestilence. By 
the response of the oracle, I understand that the citi- 
zens are commanded to vote twice, before they take 
away life given by the gods." 

The wish to gain time had chiefly induced Peri- 
cles to request that Amphiaraus might be consulted. 
In the interval, his emissaries had been busy in soft- 
ening the minds of the people; and it became uni- 
versally known that in case Aspasia's senfence were 
reversed, she intended to offer sacrifices to Aphro- 
dite, Poseidon, and Demeter ; during the continu- 
ance of which, the citizens would be publicly feasted 
at her expense. 

In these exertions, Pericles was zealously assisted 
by Clinias, a noble and wealthy Athenian, the friend 
of Anaxagoras and Phidias, and a munificent patron 
of the arts. He opeftly promised, if the lives of his 


friends were spared, to evince his gratitude to the 
gods, by offering a golden lamp to Pallas Parthenia, 
and placing in each of the agoras any statue or paint- 
ing the people thought fit to propose. 

Still, Pericles, aware of the bitterness of his ene- 
mies, increased by the late severe edict against those 
of foreign parentage, felt exceedingly fearful of the 
result of a second vote. A petition, signed by Peri- 
cles, Clinias, Ephialtes, Euripides, Socrates, Plato, 
Alcibiades, Paralus, and many other distinguished 
citizens, was sent into the Second Assembly of the 
people, begging that the accused might have another 
trial; and this petition was granted. 

When the Fourth Assembly again met, strong 
efforts were made to fill the Prytaneum at a very 
early hour with the friends of Pericles. 

The great orator secluded himself for three preced- 
ing days, and refrained from wine. During this 
time, he poured plentiful libations of milk and honey 
to Hermes, god of Eloquence, and sacrificed the 
tongues of nightingales to Peitho, goddess of Persua- 

When he entered the Prytaneum, it was remarked 
that he had never before been seen to look so pale ; 
and this circumstance, trifling as it was, excited the 
ready sympathies of the people. When the Epistates 
read the accusation against Anaxagoras, and pro- 
claimed that any Athenian, not disqualified by law, 
might speak, Pericles arose. For a moment he look- 
ed on the venerable countenance of the old philoso- 
pher, and seemed to struggle with his emotions. 
Then, with sudden impulse, he exclaimed, " Look 
on him, Athenians ! and judge ye if he be one ac- 


cursed of the gods ! — He is charged with having said 
that the sun is a great ball of fire ; and therein ye 
deem that the abstractions of philosophy have led 
him to profane the sacred name of Phoebus. We are 
told that Zeus assumed the form of an eagle, a ser- 
pent, and a golden shower ; yet these forms do not 
affect our belief in the invisible god. If Phoebus 
appeared on earth in the disguise of a woman and a 
shepherd, is it unpardonable for a philosopher to sup- 
pose that the same deity may choose to reside within 
a ball of fire 1 In the garden of Anaxagoras, you 
will find a statue of Pallas, carved from an olive-tree. 
He brought it with him from Ionia ; and those disci- 
ples who most frequent his house, can testify that 
sacrifices were ever duly offered upon her altar. Who 
among you ever received an injury from that kind 
old man ? He was the descendant of princes, — yet 
gave up gold for philosophy, and forbore to govern 
mankind, that he might love them more perfectly. 
Ask the young noble, who has been to him as a 
father; and his response will be 'Anaxagoras.' Ask 
the poor fisherman at the gates, who has been to him 
as a brother ; and he will answer ' Anaxagoras.' 
When the merry-hearted boys throng your doors to 
sing their welcome to Ornithse, inquire from whom 
they receive the kindest word and the readiest gift ; 
and they will tell you, c Anaxagoras.' The Amphi- 
araus of Eschylus, says, c I do not wish to appear 
to be a good man, but I wish to be one.' Ask any of 
the poets, what living man most resembles Amphia- 
raus in this sentiment ; and his reply will surely be, 
' It is Anaxagoras.' 


" Again I say, Athenians, look upon his face, and 
judge ye if he be one accursed of the gods !" 

The philosopher had leaned on his staff, and 
looked downward, while his illustrious pupil made 
this defence; and when he had concluded, a tear 
was seen slowly trickling down his aged cheek. 
His accusers again urged that he had taught the 
doctrine of one god, under the name of One Univer- 
sal Mind ; but the melodious voice and fluent tongue 
of Pericles had so wrought upon the citizens, that 
when the question was proposed, whether the old 
man were worthy of death, there arose a clamour- 
ous cry of " Exile ! Exile !" 

The successful orator did not venture to urge the 
plea of entire innocence; for he felt that he still had 
too much depending on the capricious favour of the 

The aged philosopher received his sentence with 
thanks; and calmly added, " Anaxagoras is not 
exiled from Athens ; but Athens from Anaxagoras. 
Evil days are coming on this city; and those who 
are too distant to perceive the trophy at Salamis 
will deem themselves most blessed. Pythagoras 
said, ' When the tempest is rising, 'tis wise to wor- 
ship the echo.' " 

After the accusation against Phidias had been 
read, Pericles again rose and said, "Athenians! I 
shall speak briefly ; for I appeal to what every citi- 
zen values more than his fortune or his name. I 
plead for the glory of Athens. When strangers from 
Ethiopia, Egypt, Phoenicia, and distant Taprobane, 
come to witness the far-famed beauty of the violet- 
crowned city, they will stand in mute worship before 


the Parthenon ; and when their wonder finds ut- 
terance, they will ask what the Athenians bestowed 
on an artist so divine. Who among you could look 
upon the image of Virgin Pallas, resplendent in her 
heavenly majesty, and not blush to tell the barbarian 
stranger that death was the boon you bestowed on 
Phidias 1 

" Go, gaze on the winged statue of Rhamnusia, 
where vengeance seems to breathe from the marble 
sent by Darius to erect his trophy on the plains oi 
Marathon ! Then turn and tell the proud Persian 
that the hand which wrought those fair proportions, 
lies cold and powerless, by vote of the Athenian 
people. No — ye could not say it : your hearts would 
choke your voices. Ye could not tell the barbarian 
that Athens thus destroyed one of the most gifted of 
her sons." 

The crowd answered in a thunder of applause ; 
mingled with the cry of " Exile ! Exile !" A few 
voices shouted, "A fine! A fine!" Then Cleon 
arose and said : " Miltiades asked for an olive 
crown ; and a citizen answered, ' When Miltiades 
conquers alone, let him be crowned alone.' When 
Phidias can show that he built the Parthenon 
without the assistance of Ictinus, Myron, Calibra- 
tes, and others, then let him have the whole credit 
of the Parthenon." 

To this, Pericles replied, " We are certainly much 
indebted to those artists for many of the beautiful 
and graceful details of that sublime composition; 
but with regard to the majestic design of the Parthe- 
non, Phidias conquered alone, and may therefore 
justly be crowned alone." 


A vote was taken on the question of exile, and the 
black pebbles predominated. The sculptor heard 
his sentence with a proud gesture, not unmingled 
with scorn; and calmly replied, "They can banish 
Phidias from Athens, more easily than I can take 
from them the fame of Phidias." 

When Pericles replied to the charges against As- 
pasia, his countenance became more pale, and his 
voice was agitated: "You all know," said he, 
"That Aspasia is of Miletus. That city which 
poets call the laughing daughter of Earth and Heav- 
en : where even the river smiles, as it winds along 
in graceful wanderings, eager to kiss every new 
blossom, and court the dalliance of every breeze. 
Do ye not find it easy to forgive a woman, born 
under those joyful skies, where beauty rests on the 
earth in a robe of sunbeams, and inspires the gayety 
which pours itself forth in playful words ? Can* ye 
judge harshly of one, who from her very childhood 
has received willing homage, as the favourite of 
Aphrodite, Phoebus, and the Muses ? If she spoke 
irreverently, it was done in thoughtless mirth ; and 
she has sought to atone for it by sacrifices and tears. 

"Athenians ! I have never boasted; and if I seem 
to do it now, it is humbly, — as befits one who seeks 
a precious boon. In your service I have spent many 
toilsome days and sleepless nights. That I have not 
enriched myself by it, is proved by the well-known 
fact that my own son blames my frugality, and 
reproachfully calls me the slave of the Athenian 

He paused for a moment, and held his hand over 
Aspasia's head, as he continued : " In the midst of 


perplexities and cares, here I have ever found a 
solace and a guide. Here are treasured up the af- 
fections of my heart. It is not for Aspasia, the 
gifted daughter of Axiochus, that I plead. It is for 
Aspasia, the beloved wife of Pericles." 

Tears choked his utterance ; but stifling his emo- 
tion, he exclaimed, "Athenians! if ye would know 
what it is that thus unmans a soul capable of meet- 
ing death with calmness, behold, and judge for 
yourselves !" 

As he spoke, he raised Aspasia' s veil. Her drapery 
had been studiously arranged to display her loveli- 
ness to the utmost advantage ; and as she stood 
forth radiant in beauty, the building rung with the 
acclamations that were sent forth, peal after peal, 
by the multitude. 

Pericles had not in vain calculated on the sympa- 
thies of a volatile and ardent people, passionately 
fond of the beautiful, in all its forms. Aspasia re- 
mained in Athens, triumphant over the laws of 
religion and morality. 

Clinias desired leave to speak in behalf of Philo- 
thea, grandchild of Anaxagoras ; and the populace, 
made good-humoured by their own clemency, ex- 
pressed a wish to hear. He proceeded as follows : 
" Philothea, — whom you all know was, not long since, 
one of the Canephorae, and embroidered the splendid 
peplus exhibited at the last Panathenoea — humbly 
begs of the Athenians, that Eudora, Dione, and 
Geta, slaves of Phidias, may remain under his pro- 
tection, and not be confiscated with his household 
goods. A contribution would have been raised, to 
buy these individuals of the state, were it not deemed 


an insult to that proud and generous people, who 
fined a citizen for proposing marble as a cheaper 
material than ivory for the statue of Pallas Par- 

The request, thus aided by flattery, was almost 
unanimously granted. One black pebble alone ap- 
peared in the urn ; and that was from the hand of 

Clinias expressed his thanks, and holding up the 
statue of Urania, he added : "In token of gratitude 
for this boon, and for the life of a beloved grand- 
father, Philothea consecrates to Pallas Athenee this 
image of the star- worshipping muse; the gift of a 
munificent Ethiopian." 

The populace, being in gracious mood, forthwith 
voted that the exiles had permission to carry with 
them any articles valued as the gift of friendship. 

The Prytanes dismissed the assembly; and as they 
dispersed, Alcibiades scattered small coins among 
them. Aspasia immediately sent to the Prytaneum 
an ivory statue of Mnemosyne, smiling as she looked 
back on a group of Hours ; a magnificent token that 
she would never forget the clemency of the Athenian 

Hermippus took an early opportunity to pro- 
claim the exhibition of a new comedy called Hercu- 
les and Omphale ; and the volatile citizens thronged 
the theatre, to laugh at that infatuated tenderness, 
which in the Prytaneum had well nigh moved them 
to tears. The actor openly ridiculed them for hav- 
ing been so much influenced by their orator's least- 
successful attempt at eloquence; but in the course 
of the same play, Cratinus raised a laugh at his ex- 


pense, by saying facetiously: " Lo ! Hermippus 
would speak like Pericles ! Hear him, Athenians ! 
Is he not as successful as Salmoneus, when he rolled 
his chariot over a brazen bridge, and hurled torches 
to imitate the thunder and lightning of Zeus 7" 

When the day of trial had passed, Pericles slept 
soundly ; for his heart was relieved from a heavy 
pressure. But personal enemies and envious artists 
were still active; and it was soon buzzed abroad 
tnat the people repented of the vote they had given. 
The exiles had been allowed ten days to sacrifice to 
the gods, bid farewell to friends, and prepare for de- 
parture : but on the third day, at evening twilight, 
Pericles entered the dwelling of his revered old mas- 
ter. " My father," said he, "I am troubled in spirit. 
I have just now returned from the Piraeus, where I 
sought an interview, with Clinias, who daily visits 
the Deigma, and has a better opportunity than I can 
have to hear the news of Athens. I found him 
crowned with garlands; for he had been offering 
sacrifices in the hall. He told me he had thus 
sought to allay the anxiety of his mind with regard 
to yourself and Phidias. He fears the capricious 
Athenians will reverse their decree." 

"Alas, Pericjes," replied the old man, "what can 
you expect of a people, when statesmen condescend 
to buy justice at their hands, by promised feasts, and 
scattered coin?" 

" Nay, blame me not, Anaxagoras," rejoined Peri- 
cles; "I cannot govern as I would. I found the 
people corrupted ; and I must humour their disease. 
Your life must be saved ; even if you reprove me for 
the means. At midnight, a boat will be in readiness 


to conduct you to Salamis, where lies a galley bound 
for Ionia. I hasten to warn Phidias to depart speed- 
ily for Elis." 

The parting interview between Philothea and her 
repentant friend was almost too painful for endur- 
ance. Poor Eudora felt that she was indeed called 
to drink the cup of affliction, to its last bitter drop. 
Her heart yearned to follow the household of Anaxa- 
goras ; but Philothea strengthened her own convic- 
tion that duty and gratitude both demanded she 
should remain with Phidias. 

Geta and Milza likewise had their sorrows — the 
harder to endure, because they were the first they 
had ever encountered. The little peasant was so 
young, and her lover so poor, that their friends 
thought a union had better be deferred. But Milza 
was free : and Anaxagoras told her it depended on 
her own choice, to go with them, or follow Geta. 
The grateful Arcadian dropped on one knee, and 
kissing Philothea's hand, while the tears flowed down 
her cheeks, said : " She has been a mother to orphan 
Milza, and I will not leave her now. Geta says it 
would be wrong to leave her when she is in afflic- 

Philothea, with a gentle smile, put back the ring- 
lets from her tearful eyes, and told her not to weep 
for her sake ; for she should be resigned and cheer- 
ful, wheresover the gods might place her; but Milza 
saw that her smiles were sad. 

At midnight, Pericles came, to accompany Anaxa- 
goras to Salamis. Paralus and Philothea had been 
conversing much, and singing their favourite songs 
together, for the last time. The brow of the ambi- 


tious statesman became clouded, when he observed 
that his son had been in tears; he begged that 
preparations for departure might be hastened. The 
young man followed them to the Piraeus ; but Peri- 
cles requested him to go no further. The restraint 
of his presence prevented any parting less formal 
than that of friendship. But he stood watching the 
boat that conveyed them over the waters ; and when 
the last ripple left in its wake had disappeared, he 
slowly returned to Athens. 

The beautiful city stoood before him, mantled in 
moonlight's silvery veil. Yet all seemed cheerless ; 
for the heart of Paralus was desolate. He looked 
toward the beloved mansion near the gate Diocharis ; 
drew from his bosom a long lock of golden hair ; and 
leaning against the statue of Hermes, bowed down 
his head and wept. 




" How I love the mellow sage, 
Smiling through the veil of age ! 
Age is on his temples hung, 
But his heart — his heart is young 1" 


A few years passed away, and saw Anaxagoras 
the contented resident of a small village near Lamp- 
sacus, in Ionia. That he still fondly cherished 
Athens in his heart was betrayed only by the fre- 
quent walks he took to a neighbouring eminence, 
where he loved to sit and look toward the iEgean ; 
but the feebleness of age gradually increased, until he 
could no longer take his customary exercise. Philo- 
thea watched over him with renewed tenderness ; 
and the bright tranquillity he received from the world 
he was fast approaching, shone with reflected light 
upon her innocent soul. At times, the maiden was 
so conscious of this holy influence, that all the earth- 
ly objects around her seemed like dreams of some 
strange foreign land. 

One morning, after they had partaken their frugal 
repast, she said, in a cheerful tone, " Dear grand- 
father, I had last night a pleasant dream ; and Milza 
says it is prophetic, because she had filled my pillow 
with fresh laurel leaves. I dreamed that a galley, 
with three banks of oars, and adorned with fillets, 
came to carry us back to Athens." 

With a faint smile, Anaxagoras replied, " Alas for 
unhappy Athens ! If half we hear be true, her ex- 
iled children can hardly wish to be restored to her 


bosom. Atropos has decreed that I at least shall 
never again enter her walls. I am not disposed to 
murmur. Yet the voice of Plato would be pleasant 
to my ears, as music on the waters in the night-time. 
I pray you bring forth the writings of Pythagoras, 
and read me something that sublime philosopher has 
said concerning the nature of the soul, and the eter- 
nal principle of life. As my frail body approaches 
the Place of Sleep, I feel less and less inclined to 
study the outward images of things, the forms 
whereof perish; and my spirit thirsteth more and 
more to know its origin and its destiny. I have 
thought much of Plato's mysterious ideas of light. 
Those ideas were doubtless brought from the East; 
for as that is the quarter where the sun rises, so we 
have thence derived many vital truths, which have 
kept a spark of life within the beautiful pageantry 
of Grecian mythology." 

"Paralus often said that the Persian Magii, the 
Egyptian priests, and the Pythagoreans imbibed 
their reverence for light from one common source," 
rejoined Philothea. 

Anaxagoras was about to speak, when a deep but 
gentle voice, from some invisible person near them, 
said : 

" The unchangeable principles of Truth act upon 
the soul like the sun upon the eye, when it turneth 
to him. But the one principle, better than intellect, 
from which all things flow, and to which all things 
tend, is Good. As the sun not only makes objects 
visible, but is the cause of their generation, nour- 
ishment, and increase, so the Good, through Truth, 
imparts being, and the power of being known, to 


every object of knowledge. For this cause, the 
Pythagoreans greet the sun with music and with 

The listeners looked at each other in surprise, and 
Philothea was the first to say, "It is the voice of 

" Even so, my friends," replied the philosopher, 
smiling, as he stood before them. 

The old man, in the sudden joy of his heart, at- 
tempted to rise and embrace him ; but weakness 
prevented. The tears started to his eyes, as he said, 
" Welcome, most welcome, son of Aristo. You see 
that I am fast going where we hope the spirit is to 
learn its own mysteries." 

Plato, affected at the obvious change in his aged 
friend, silently grasped his hand, and turned to 
answer *the salutation of Philothea. She too had 
changed ; but she had never been more lovely. The 
colour on her cheek, which had always been delicate 
as the reflected hue of a rose, had become paler by 
frequent watchings ; but her large dark eyes were 
more soft and serious, and her whole countenance 
beamed with the bright stillness of a spirit receiving 
the gift of prophecy. 

The skies were serene ; the music of reeds came 
upon the ear, softened by distance ; while the snowy 
fleece of sheep and lambs formed a beautiful contrast 
with the rich verdure of the landscape. 

"All things around you are tranquil," said Plato; 
" and thus I ever found it, even in corrupted Athens. 
Not the stillness of souls that sleep, but the quiet of 
life drawn from deep fountains." 


" How did you find our peaceful retreat ?" inquired 
Philothea. "Did none guide you?" 

" Euago of Lampsacus told me what course to 
pursue," he replied; "and not far distant I again 
asked of a shepherd boy — well knowing that all the 
children would find out Anaxagoras as readily as 
bees are guided to the flowers. As I approached 
nearer. I saw at every step new tokens of my 
friends. The clepsydra, in the little brook, drop- 
ping its pebbles to mark the hours ; the arytasna 
placed on the rock for thirsty travellers ; the door 
loaded with garlands, placed there by glad-hearted 
boys ; the tablet covered with mathematical lines, 
lying on the wooden bench, sheltered by grape-vines 
trained in the Athenian fashion, with a distaff 
among the foliage; all these spoke to me of souls 
that unite the wisdom of age with the innocence of 

" Though we live in indolent Ionia, we still be- 
lieve Hesiod's maxim, that industry is the guardian 
of virtue," rejoined Anaxagoras. "Philothea plies 
her distaff as busily as Lachesis spinning the thread 
of mortal life." He looked upon his beautiful grand- 
child, with an expression full of tenderness, as he 
added, "And she does indeed spin the thread of the 
old man's life ; for her diligent fingers gain my bread. 
But what news bring you from unhappy Athens? 
Is Pericles yet alive?" 

" She is indeed unhappy Athens," answered Plato. 
"The pestilence is still raging; a manifested form 
of that inward corruption, which, finding a home in 
the will of man, clothed itself in thought, and now 
completes its circle in his corporeal nature. The 


dream at the cave of Amphiaraus is literally fulfilled. 
Men fall down senseless in the street, and the Piraeus 
has been heaped with unburied dead. All the chil- 
dren of Clinias are in the Place of Sleep. Hipparete 
is dead, with two of her little ones. Pericles him- 
self was one of the first sufferers ; but he was recov- 
ered by the skill of Hippocrates, the learned physi- 
cian from Cos. His former wife is dead, and so is 
Xanthippus his son. You know that that proud 
young man and his extravagant wife could never 
forgive the frugality of Pericles. Even in his dying 
moments he refused to call him father, and. made no 
answer to his affectionate inquiries. Pericles has 
borne all his misfortunes with the dignity of an im- 
mortal. No one has seen him shed a tear, or heard 
him utter a complaint. The ungrateful people blame 
him for all their troubles, as if he had omnipotent 
power to avert evils. Cleon and Tolmides are tri- 
umphant. Pericles is deprived of office, and fined 
fifty drachmas." 

He looked at Philothea, and seeing her eyes fixed 
earnestly upon him, her lips parted, and an eager 
flush spread over her whole countenance, he said, in 
a tone offender solemnity, "Daughter of Alcimenes, 
your heart reproaches me, that I forbear to speak of 
Paralus. That I have done so has not been from 
forgetfulness, but because I have, with vain and self- 
defeating prudence, sought for cheerful words to con- 
vey sad thoughts. Paralus breathes and moves, but 
is apparently unconscious of existence in this world. 
He is silent and abstracted, like one just returned 
from the cave of Trophonius. Yet, beautiful forms 

are ever with him, in infinite variety : for his qui- 


escent soul has now undisturbed recollection of the 
divine archetypes in the ideal world, of which all 
earthly beauty is the shadow." 

" He is happy, then, though living in the midst of 
death," answered Philothea : " But does his memory 
retain no traces of his friends ?" 

"One — and one only," he replied. "The name 
of Philothea was too deeply engraven to be washed 
away by the waters of oblivion. He seldom speaks ; 
but when he does, you are ever in his visions. The 
sound of a female voice accompanying the lyre is the 
only thing that makes him smile ; and nothing moves 
him to tears save the farewell song of Orpheus to 
Eurydice. In his drawings there is more of majesty 
and beauty than Phidias or Myron ever conceived ; 
and one figure is always there — the Pythia, the 
Muse, the Grace, or something combining all these, 
more spiritual than either." 

As the maiden listened, tears started from foun- 
tains long sealed, and rested like dew-drops on her 
dark eye-lashes. 

Farewell to Eurydice ! Oh, how many thoughts 
were wakened by those words ! They were the last 
she heard sung by Paralus, the night Anaxagoras 
departed from Athens. Often had the shepherds of 
Ionia heard the melancholy notes float on the even- 
ing breeze ; and as the sounds died away, they 
spoke to each other in whispers, and said, " They 
come from the dwelling of the divinely-inspired 



Plato perceived that the contemplative maiden 
was busy with memories of the past. In a tone of 
gentle reverence, he added, "What I have told you 


proves that your souls were one, before it wandered 
from the divine home ; and it gives hope that they 
will be re-united, when they return thither after 
their weary exile in the world of shadows." 

" And has this strange pestilence produced such 
an effect on Paralus only?" inquired Anaxagoras. 

" Many in Athens have recovered health without 
any memory of the images of things," replied Plato ; 
" but I have known no other instance where recol- 
lections of the ideal world remained more bright and 
unimpaired, than they possibly can be while dis- 
turbed by the presence of the visible. Tithonus 
formerly told me of similar cases that occurred when 
the plague raged in Ethiopia and Egypt ; and Arta- 
phernes says he has seen a learned Magus, residing 
among the mountains that overlook Taoces, who re- 
covered from the plague with a perpetual oblivion 
of all outward forms, while he often had knowledge 
of the thoughts passing in the minds of those around 
him. If an unknown scroll were placed before him, 
he would read it, though a brazen shield were inter- 
posed between him and the parchment ; and if fig- 
ures were drawn on the water, he at once recognized 
the forms, of which no visible trace remained." 

" Marvellous, indeed, is the mystery of our being," 
exclaimed Anaxagoras. 

" It involves the highest of all mysteries," rejoined 
Plato; "for if man did not contain within himself a 
type of all that is, — from the highest to the lowest 
plane of existence, — he could not enter the human 
form. At times, I have thought glimpses of these 
eternal truths were revealed to me; but I lost them 
almost as soon as they were perceived, because my 


soul dwelt so much with the images of things. Thus 
have I stood before the thick veil which conceals the 
shrine of Isis, while the narrow streak of brilliant 
light around its edges gave indication of unrevealed 
glories, and inspired the eager but fruitless hope that 
the massive folds would float away, like a cloud be- 
fore the sun. There are indeed times when I lose 
the light entirely, and cannot even perceive the veil 
that hides it from me. This is because my soul, 
like Psyche bending over the sleeping Eros, is too 
curious to examine, by its own feeble taper, the 
lineaments of the divinity whereby it hath been 

" How is Pericles affected by this visitation of the 
gods upon the best beloved of his children?" inquired 

"It has softened and subdued his ambitious soul," 
answered Plato ; "and has probably helped him to 
endure the loss of political honours with composure. 
I have often observed that affliction renders the heart 
of man like the heart of a little child ; and of this I 
was reminded when I parted from Pericles at Sala- 
mis, whence the galley sailed for Ionia. You doubt- 
less remember the little mound, called Oynos-sema 1 
There lies the faithful dog, that died in consequence 
of swimming after the ship which carried the father 
of Pericles, when the Athenians were all leaving 
their beloved city by advice of Themistocles. The 
illustrious statesman has not been known to shed a 
tear amid the universal wreck of his popularity, his 
family, and his friends ; but standing by this little, 
mound, the recollections of childhood came over 


him, and he wept as an infant weeps for its lost 

There was a tremulous motion about the lips of 
the old man, as he replied, u Perchance he was com- 
paring the constancy of that affectionate animal with 
the friendship of men, and the happy unconscious- 
ness of his boyhood with the anxious cares that 
wait on greatness. Pericles had a soft heart in his 
youth ; and none knew this better than the forgotten 
old man, whom he once called his friend." 

Plato perceived his emotion, and answered, in a 
soothing voice, " He has since been wedded to politi- 
cal ambition, which never brought any man nearer 
to his divine home ; but Anaxagoras is not forgotten. 
Pericles has of late often visited the shades of Aca- 
demus, where he has talked much of you and Philo- 
thea, and expressed earnest hopes that the gods 
would again restore you to Athens, to bless him with 
your wise counsels." 

The aged philosopher shook his head, as he replied, 
" They who would have a lamp should take care to 
supply it with oil. Had Philothea's affection been 
like that of Pericles, this old frame would have 
perished, for want of food." 

"Nay, Anaxagoras," rejoined Plato, " you must 
not forget that this Peloponessian war, the noisy 
feuds in Athens, and afflictions in his own family, 
have involved him in continual distractions. He 
who gives his mind to politics, sails on a stormy sea, 
with a giddy pilot. Pericles has now sent you sub- 
stantial proofs of his gratitude ; and if his power 

equalled his wishes, I have no doubt he would make 


use of the alarmed state of public feeling to procure 
your recall." 

" You have as yet given us no tidings of Phidias 
and his household," said Philothea. 

" The form of Phidias sleeps," replied Plato : " His 
soul has returned to those sacred mysteries, once 
familiar to him; the recollection of which enabled 
him while on earth to mould magnificent images of su- 
pernal forms — images that awakened in all who gazed 
upon them some slumbering memory of ideal worlds ; 
though few knew whence it came, or why their 
souls were stirred. The best of his works is the 
Olympian Zeus, made at Elis after his exile. It is 
far more sublime than the Pallas Parthenia. The 
Eleans consider the possession of it as a great 
triumph over ungrateful Athens." 

"Under whose protection is Eudora placed?" in- 
quired Philothea. 

"I have heard that she remains at the house where 
Phidias died," rejoined Plato. "The Eleans have 
given her the yearly revenues of a farm, in consider- 
ation of the affectionate care bestowed on her illus- 
trious benefactor. Report says that Phidias wished 
to see her united to his nephew Pandsenus; but I 
have never heard of the marriage. Philsemon is sup- 
posed to be in Persia, instructing the sons of the 
wealthy satrap Megabyzus." 

"And where is the faithful Geta?" inquired An- 

"Geta is at Lampsacus ; and I doubt not will 
hasten hither, as soon as he has taken care of certain 
small articles of merchandize that he brought with 
him. Phidias gave him his freedom the day they 


left Athens ; and after his death, the people of Elis 
bestowed upon him fifty drachmae. He has estab- 
lished himself at Phalerum, where he tells me he 
has doubled this sum by the sale of anchovies. He 
was eager to attend upon me for the sake, as he said, 
of once more seeing his good old master Anaxagoras, 
and that maiden with mild eyes, who always spoke 
kind words to the poor ; but I soon discovered there 
was a stronger reason for his desire to visit Lamp- 
sacus. From what we had heard, we expected to 
find you in the city. Geta looked very sorrowful, 
when told that you were fifty stadia farther from the 

"When we first landed on the Ionian shore," re- 
plied Anaxagoras, "I took up my abode two stadia 
from Lampsacus, and sometimes went thither to lec- 
ture in the porticos. But when I did this, I seemed 
to breathe an impure air; and idle young men so 
often followed me home, that the maidens were de- 
prived of the innocent freedom I wished them to 
enjoy. Here I feel, more than I have ever felt, the 
immediate presence of divinity." 

" I know not whether it be good or bad," said 
Plato ; " but philosophy has wrought in me a dislike 
of conversing with many persons. I do not imitate 
the Pythagoreans, who close their gates ; for I per- 
ceive that truth never ought to be a sealed fountain ; 
but I cannot go into the Prytanseum, the agoras, and 
the workshops, and jest, like Socrates, to captivate 
the attention of young men. When I thus seek to 
impart hidden treasures, I lose without receiving; 
and few perceive the value of what is offered. I feel 
the breath of life taken away from me by the multi- 


tude. Their praises cause me to fear, lest, accord- 
ing to Ibycus, I should offend the gods, but acquire 
glory among men. For these reasons, I have re- 
solved never to abide in cities." 

"The name of Socrates recalls Alcibiades to my 
mind," rejoined Anaxagoras. "Is he still popular 
with the Athenians'?" 

"He is; and* will remain so," replied Plato, "so 
long as he feasts them at his own expense, and 
drinks three cotylse of wine at a draught. I know 
not of what materials he is made; unless it be of 
Carpasian flax, which above all things burns and 
consumes not." 

" Has this fearful pestilence no power to restrain 
the appetites and passions of the people?" inquired 
the old man. 

" It has but given them more unbridled license," 
rejoined Plato. " Even when the unburied dead lay 
heaped in piles, and the best of our equestrians were 
gasping in the streets, robbers took possession of 
their dwellings, drinking wine from their golden ves- 
sels, and singing impure songs in the presence of 
their household gods. Men seek to obtain oblivion 
of danger by reducing themselves to the condition of 
beasts, which have no perception above the immedi- 
ate wants of the senses. All pursuits that serve to 
connect the soul with the world whence it came are 
rejected. The Odeum is shut; there is no more lec- 
tin ing in the porticos; the temples are entirely for- 
saken, and even the Diasia are no longer observed. 
Some of the better sort of citizens, weary of fruitless 
prayers and sacrifices to Phoebus, Phoebe, Pallas, 
and the Erinnys, have erected an altar to the Un- 


known God ; and this altar only is heaped with gar- 
lands, and branches of olive twined with wool." 

"A short time ago, he who had dared to propose 
the erection of such an altar would have been put to 
death," said Anaxagoras. "The pestilence has not 
been sent in vain, if the faith in images is shaken, 
and the Athenians have been led to reverence One 
great Principle of Order, even though they call it 

11 It is fear, unmingled with reverence, in the minds 
of many," replied the philosopher of Academus. " As 
for the multitude, they consider all principles of right 
and wrong as things that may exist, or not exist, 
according to the vote of the Athenian people. Of 
ideas eternal in their nature, and therefore incapable 
of being created or changed by the will of a majority, 
they cannot conceive. When health is restored, they 
will return to the old worship of forms, as readily as 
they changed from Pericles to Oleon, and will again 
change from him to Pericles." 

The aged philosopher shook his head and smiled, 
as he said : " Ah, Plato ! Plato ! where will you find 
materials for your ideal republic?" 

"In an ideal Atlantis," replied the Athenian, smil- 
ing in return ; "or perchance in the fabled groves of 
Argive Hera, where the wild beasts are tamed — the 
deer and the wolf lie down together — and the weak 
animal finds refuge from his powerful pursuer. But 
the principle of a republic is none the less true, be- 
cause mortals make themselves unworthy to receive 
it. The best doctrines become the worst, when they 
are used for evil purposes. Where a love of power 
is the ruling object, the tendency is corruption ; and 


the only difference between Persia and Athens is, 
that in one place power is received by birth, in the 
other obtained by cunning. 

" Thus it will ever be, while men grope in the 
darkness of their outward nature; which receives no 
light from the inward, because they will not open 
the doors of the temple, where a shrine is placed, 
from which it ever beams forth with occult and ven- 
erable splendour. 

" Philosophers would do well if they ceased to dis- 
turb themselves with the meaning of mythologic 
fables, and considered whether they have not within 
themselves a serpent possessing more folds than 
Typhon, and far more raging and fierce. When the 
wild beasts within the soul are destroyed, men will 
no longer have to contend against their visible forms." 

" But tell me, O admirable Plato !" said Anaxago- 
ras, " what connection can there be between the 
inward allegorical serpent, and the created form 

"One could not exist without the other," answered 
Plato, " because where there is no ideal, there can be 
no image. There are doubtless men in other parts 
of the universe better than we are, because they 
stand on a- higher plane of existence, and approach 
nearer to the idea of man. The celestial lion is in- 
tellectual, but the sublunary irrational ; for the for- 
mer is nearer the idea of a lion. The lower planes 
of existence receive the influences of the higher, ac- 
cording to the purity and stillness of the will. If 
this be restless and turbid, the waters from a pure 
fountain become corrupted, and the corruption flows 
down to lower planes of existence, until it at last 


manifests itself in corporeal forms. The sympathy 
thus produced between things earthly and celestial 
is the origin of imagination ; by which men have 
power to trace the images of supernal forms, invisi- 
ble to mortal eyes. Every man can be elevated to a 
higher plane by quiescence of the will ; and thus 
may become a prophet. But none are perfect ones ; 
because all have a tendency to look downward to 
the opinions of men in the same existence with them- 
selves; and this brings them upon a lower plane, 
where the prophetic light glimmers and dies. The 
Fythia at Delphi, and the priestess in Dodona, have 
been the cause of very trifling benefits, when in a 
cautious, prudent state ; but when agitated by a di- 
vine mania, they have produced many advantages, 
both public and private, to the Greeks." 

The conversation was interrupted by the merry 
shouts of children; and presently a troop of boys 
and girls appeared, leading two lambs decked with 
garlands. They were twin lambs of a ewe that had 
died; and they had been trained to suck from a pipe 
placed in a vessel of milk. This day, for the first 
time, the young ram had placed his budding horns 
under the throat of his sister lamb, and pushed away 
her head that he might take possession of the pipe 
himself. The children were greatly delighted with 
this exploit, and hastened to exhibit it before their 
old friend Anaxagoras, who always entered into their 
sports with a cheerful heart. Philothea replenished 
the vessel of milk; and the gambols of the young 
lambs, with the joyful laughter of the children, dif- 
fused a universal spirit of gladness. One little girl 
filled the hands of the old philosopher with tender 


leaves, that the beautiful animals might come and 
eat; while another climbed his knees, and put her 
little fingers on his venerable head, saying, "Your 
hair is as white as the lamb's ; will Philothea spin 
it, father?" 

The maiden, who had been gazing at the little 
group with looks full of tenderness, timidly raised 
her eyes to Plato, and said, "Son of Aristo, these 
have not wandered so far from their divine home as 
we have !" 

The philosopher had before observed the peculiar 
radiance of Philothea' s expression, when she raised 
her downcast eyes ; but it never before appeared to 
him so much like light suddenly revealed from the 
inner shrine of a temple. 

With a feeling approaching to worship, he replied, 
11 Maiden, your own spirit has always remained near 
its early glories." 

When the glad troop of children departed, Plato 
followed them to see their father's flocks, and play 
quoits with the larger boys. Anaxagoras looked 
after him with a pleased expression, as he said, " He 
will delight their minds, as he has elevated ours. 
Assuredly, his soul is like the Homeric chain of gold, 
one end of which rests on earth, and the other termi- 
nates in Heaven." 

Milza was daily employed in fields not far distant, 
to tend a neighbour's goats, and Philothea, wishing 
to impart the welcome tidings, took up the shell with 
which she was accustomed to summon her to her 
evening labours. She was about to apply the shell 
to her lips, when she perceived the young Arcadian 
standing in the vine-covered arbour, with Geta, who 

PH1L0THEA. 159 

had seized her by each cheek, and was kissing her 
after the fashion of the Grecian peasantry. With a 
smile and a blush, the maiden turned away hastily, 
lest the humble lovers should perceive they were dis- 

The frugal supper waited long on the table before 
Plato returned. As he entered, Anaxagoras pointed 
to the board, which rested on rude sticks cut from 
the trees, and said, " Son of Aristo, all I have to offer 
you are dried grapes, bread, wild honey, and water 
from the brook." 

"More I should not taste if I were at the table 
of Alcibiades," replied the philosopher of Athens. 
"When I see men bestow much thought on eating 
and drinking, I marvel that they will labour so dili- 
gently in building their own prisons. Here, at least, 
we can restore the Age of Innocence, when no life 
was taken to gratify the appetite of man, and the 
altars of ihe gods were unstained with blood." 

Philothea, contrary to the usual custom of Grecian 
women, remained with her grandfather and his 
guest during their simple repast, and soon after retir- 
ed to her own apartment. 

When they were alone, Plato informed his aged 
friend that his visit to Lampsacus was at the request 
of Pericles. Hippocrates had expressed a hope that 
the presence of Philothea might, at least in some de- 
gree, restore the health of Paralus; and the heart- 
stricken father had sent to intreat her consent to a 
union with his son. 

"Philothea would not leave me, even if I urged it 
with tears," replied Anaxagoras; "and I am forbid- 
den to return to Athens." 


"Pericles has provided an asylum for you, on the 
borders of Attica," answered Plato; "and the young 
people would soon join you, after their marriage. 
He did not suppose that his former proud opposition 
to their loves would be forgotten ; but he said hearts 
like yours would forgive it all, the more readily be- 
cause he was now a man deprived of power, and his 
son suffering under a visitation of the gods. Alcibi- 
ades laughed aloud when he heard of this proposi- 
tion; and said his uncle would never think of mak- 
ing it to any but a maiden who sees the zephyrs run 
and hears the stars sing. He spoke truth in his pro- 
fane merriment. Pericles knows that she who obe- 
diently listens to the inward voice will be most like- 
ly to seek the happiness of others, forgetful of her 
own wrongs." 

"I do not believe the tender-hearted maiden ever 
cherished resentment against any living thing," re- 
plied Anaxagoras. "She often reminds me of He- 
siod's description of Leto: 

' Placid to men and to immortal gods ; 
Mild from the first beginning of her days; 
Gentlest of all in Heaven.' 

"She has indeed been a precious gift to my old age. 
Simple and loving as she is, there are times when 
her looks and words fill me with awe, as if I stood in 
the presence of divinity." 

"It is a most lovely union when the Muses and 
the Charities inhabit the same temple," said Plato. 
"I think she learned of you to be a constant wor- 
shipper of the innocent and graceful nymphs, who 
preside over kind and gentle actions. But tell me, 
Anaxagoras, if this marriage is declined, who will 


protect the daughter of Alcimenes when you are 

The philosopher replied, u l have a sister Heliodora, 
the youngest of my father's flock, who is Priestess of 
the Sun, at Ephesus. Of all my family ; she has 
least despised me for preferring philosophy to gold ; 
and report bespeaks her wise and virtuous. I have 
asked and obtained from her a promise to protect 
Philothea when I am gone; but I will tell my child 
the wishes of Pericles, and leave her to the guidance 
of her own heart. If she enters the home of Paralus, 
she will be to him, as she has been to me, a blessing 
like the sunshine." 



Adieu, thou sun, and fields of golden light ; 
For the last time I drink thy radiance bright, 
And sink to sleep. 


The galley that brought Plato from Athens was 
sent on a secret political mission, and was not ex- 
pected to revisit Lampsacus until the return of an- 
other moon. Anaxagoras, always mindful of the 
happiness of those around him, proposed that the 
constancy of faithful Geta should be rewarded by an 
union with Milza. The tidings were hailed with 
joy ; not only by the young couple, but by all the 
villagers. The superstition of the little damsel did 
indeed suggest numerous obstacles. The sixteenth 
of the month must on no account be chosen ; one 
day was unlucky for a wedding, because as she re- 
turned from the fields, an old woman busy at the 
distaff had directly crossed her path; and another 
was equally so, because she had seen a weasel, 
without remembering to throw three stones as it 
passed. But at last there came a day against which 
no objections could be raised. The sky was cloud- 
less, and the moon at its full ; both deemed propitious 
omens. A white kid had been sacrificed to Artemis, 
and baskets of fruit and poppies been duly placed 
upon her altar. The long white veil woven by Milza 
and laid by for this occasion, was taken out to be 
bleached in the sunshine and dew. Philothea pre- 
sented a zone, embroidered by her own skilful hands ; 
Anaxagoras bestowed a pair of sandals laced with 


crimson ; and Geta purchased a bridal robe of flaming 

Plato promised to supply the feast with almonds 
and figs. The peasant, whose goats Milza had 
tended, sent six large vases of milk, borne by boys 
crowned with garlands. And the matrons of the vil- 
lage, with whom the kind little Arcadian had ever 
been a favourite, presented a huge cake, carried aloft 
on a bed of flowers, by twelve girls clothed in white. 
The humble residence of the old philosopher was 
almost covered with the abundant blossoms brought 
by joyful children. The door posts were crowned 
with garlands anointed with oil, and bound with 
fillets of wool. The bride and bridegroom were car- 
ried in procession, on a litter made of the boughs of 
trees, plentifully adorned with garlands and flags of 
various colours ; preceded by young men playing on 
reeds and flutes, and followed by maidens bearing 
a pestle and sieve. The priest performed the cus- 
tomary sacrifices at the altar of Hera; the omens 
were propitious; libations were poured; and Milza 
returned to her happy home, the wife of her faithful 
Geta. Feasting continued till late in the evening, 
and the voice of music was not hushed until past the 
hour of midnight. 

The old philosopher joined in the festivity, and in 

the cheerfulness of his heart exerted himself beyond 

his strength. Each succeeding day found him more 

feeble ; and Phiiothea soon perceived that the staff on 

which she had leaned from her childhood was about 

to be removed forever. On the twelfth day after 

Milza 7 s wedding, he asked to be led into the open 

portico, that he might enjoy the genial warmth. He 


gazed on the bright landscape, as if it had been the 
countenance of a friend. Then looking upward, 
with a placid smile, he said to Plato, "You tell me 
that Truth acts upon the soul, like the Sun upon the 
eye, when it turneth to him. Would that I could be 
as easily and certainly placed in the light of truth, as 
I have been in this blessed sunshine ! But in vain 
I seek to comprehend the mystery of my being. All 
my thoughts on this subject are dim and shadowy, 
as the ghosts seen by Odysseus on the Stygian 

Plato answered: " Thus it must ever be, while the 
outward world lies so near us, and the images of 
things crowd perpetually on the mind. An obolus 
held close to the eye may prevent our seeing the 
moon and the stars; and thus does the ever-present 
earth exclude the glories of Heaven. But in the 
midst of uncertainty and fears, one feeling alone re- 
mains; and that is hope, strong as belief, that virtue 
can never die. In pity to the cravings of the soul, 
something will surely be given in future time more 
bright and fixed than the glimmering truths pre- 
served in poetic fable ; even as radiant stars arose 
from the ashes of Orion's daughters, to shine in the 
heavens an eternal crown." 

The old man replied, " I have, as you well know, 
been afraid to indulge in your speculations concern- 
ing the soul, lest I should spend my life in unsatis- 
fied attempts to embrace beautiful shadows." 

"To me likewise they have sometimes appeared 
doctrines too high and solemn to be taught," rejoined 
Plato: "Often when I have attempted to clothe 
them in language, the airy forms have glided from 


me, mocking me with their distant beauty. We are 
told of Tantalus surrounded by water that flows 
away when he attempts to taste it, and with delicious 
fruits above his head, carried off by a sudden wind 
whenever he tries to seize them. It was his crime 
that, being admitted to the assemblies of Olympus, 
he brought away the nectar and ambrosia of the 
gods, and gave them unto mortals. Sometimes, 
when I have been led to discourse of ideal beauty, 
with those who perceive only the images of things, 
the remembrance of that unhappy son of Zeus has 
awed me into silence." 

While they were yet speaking, the noise of ap- 
proaching wheels was heard, and presently a splen- 
did chariot, with four white horses, stopped before 
the humble dwelling. 

A stranger, in purple robes, descended from the 
chariot, followed by servants carrying a seat of ivory 
inlaid with silver, a tuft of peacock feathers to brush 
away the insects, and a golden box rilled with per- 
fumes. It was Chrysippus, prince of Clazomense, 
the nephew of Anaxagoras. He had neglected and 
despised > the old man in his poverty, but had now 
come to congratulate him on the rumour of Philo- 
thea's approaching marriage with the son of Pericles. 
The aged philosopher received him with friendly 
greeting, and made him known to Plato. Chrysip- 
pus gave a glance at the rude furniture of the portico, 
and gathered his perfumed robes carefully about 
him. T 

" Son of Basileon, it is the dwelling of cleanliness, 
though it be the abode of poverty," said the old man, 
in a tone of mild reproof. 


Geta had officiously brought a wooden bench for 
the high-born guest; but he waited till his attend- 
ants had opened the ivory seat, and covered it with 
crimson cloth, before he seated himself, and replied : 
" Truly, I had not expected to find the son of He- 
gesibulus in so mean a habitation. No man would 
conjecture that you were the descendant of princes." 

With a quiet smile, the old man answered, — 
" Princes have not wished to proclaim kindred with 
Anaxagoras; and why should he desire to perpet- 
uate the remembrance of what they have forgotten ?" 

Chrysippus looked toward Plato, and with some 
degree of embarrassment sought to excuse himself, 
by saying, " My father often told me that it was 
your own choice to withdraw from your family ; and 
if they have not since offered to share their wealth 
with you, it is because you have ever been improvi- 
dent of your estates." 

"What! Do you not take charge of them?" in- 
quired Anaxagoras. "I gave my estates to your 
father, from the conviction that he would take better 
care of them than I could do ; and in this I deemed 
myself most provident." 

"But you went to Athens, and took no care for 
your country," rejoined the prince. 

The venerable philosopher pointed to the heavens, 
that smiled serenely above them, and said, " Nay, 
young man, my greatest care has ever been for my 

In a more respectful tone, Chrysippus rejoined : 
" Anaxagoras, all men speak of your wisdom ; but 
does this fame so far satisfy you, that you never 
regret you sacrificed riches to philosophy?" 


" I am satisfied with the pursuit of wisdom, not 
with the fame of it," replied the sage. " In my 
youth, I greatly preferred wisdom to gold ; and as I 
approach the Stygian shore, gold has less and less 
value in my eyes. Charon will charge my disem- 
bodied spirit but a single obolus for crossing his dark 
ferry. Living mortals only need a golden bough to 
enter the regions of the dead." 

The prince seemed thoughtful for a moment, as he 
gazed on the benevolent countenance of his aged 

"If it be as you have said, Anaxagoras is indeed 
happier than princes," he replied. "But I came to 
speak of the daughter of Alcimenes. I have heard 
that she is beautiful, and the destined wife of Paralus 
of Athens." 

"It is even so," said the philosopher; "and it 
would gladden my heart, if I might be permitted to 
see her placed under the protection of Pericles, before 
I die." 

" Has a sufficient dowry been provided?" inquired 
Chrysippus. "No one of our kindred must enter 
the family of Pericles as a slave." 

A slight colour mantled in the old man's cheeks, 
as he answered, "I have friends in Athens, who will 
not see my precious child suffer shame for want of a 
few drachmae." 

"I have brought with me a gift, which I deemed 
in some degree suited to the dignity of our ances- 
tors," rejoined the prince; " and I indulged the hope 
of giving it into the hands of the maiden." 

As he spoke, he made a signal to his attendants, 
who straightway brought from the chariot a silver 


tripod lined with gold, and a bag containing a hun- 
dred golden staters. At the same moment, Milza 
entered, and in a low voice informed Anaxagoras 
that Philothea deemed this prolonged interview with 
the stranger dangerous to his feeble health; and 
begged that he would suffer himself to be placed on 
the couch. The invalid replied by a message de- 
siring her presence. As she entered, he said to her, 
" Philothea, behold your kinsman Chrysippus, son 
of Basileon." 

The illustrious guest was received with the same 
modest and friendly greeting, that would have been 
bestowed on the son of a worthy peasant. The 
prince felt slightly offended that his splendid dress 
and magnificent equipage produced so little effect on 
the family of the philosopher; but as the fame of 
Philothea's beauty had largely mingled with other 
inducements to make the visit, he endeavoured to 
conceal his pride, and as he offered the rich gifts, 
said in a respectful tone, "Daughter of Alcimenes, 
the tripod is from Heliodora, Priestess at Ephesus. 
The golden coin is from my own coffers. Accept 
them for a dowry ; and allow me to claim one privi- 
lege in return. As I cannot be at the marriage feast, 
to share the pleasures of other kinsmen, permit the 
son of Basileon to see you now one moment without 
your veil." 

He waved his hand for his attendants to with- 
draw; but the maiden hesitated, until Anaxagoras 
said mildly, " Chrysippus is of your father's kindred ; 
and it is discreet that his request be granted." 

Philothea timidly removed her veil, and a modest 
blush suffused her lovely countenance, as she said, 


11 Thanks, Prince of Clazomense, for these munificent 
gifts. May the gods long preserve you a blessing to 
your family and people." 

" The gifts are all unworthy of her who receives 
them," replied Chrysippus, gazing so intently that 
the maiden, with rosy confusion, replaced her veil. 

Anaxagoras invited his royal guest to share a 
philosopher's repast, to which he promised should 
be added a goblet of wine, lately sent from Lamp- 
sacus. The prince courteously accepted his invita- 
tion ; and the kind old man, wearied with the exer- 
tions he had made, was borne to his couch in an 
inner apartment. When Plato had assisted Philo- 
thea and Milza in arranging his pillows, and folding 
the robe about his feet, he returned to the portico. 
Philothea supposed the stranger was about to follow 
him; and without raising her head, as she bent over 
her grandfather's couch, she said: "He is feeble, 
and needs repose. In the days of his, strength, he 
would not have thus left you to the courtesy of our 
Athenian guest." 

"Would to the gods that I had sought him sooner !" 
rejoined Chrysippus. "While I have gathered for- 
eign jewels, I have been ignorant of the gems in my 
own family." 

Then stooping down, he took Anaxagoras by the 
hand, and said affectionately, "Have you nothing to 
ask of your brother's son?" 

" Nothing but your prayers for us, and a gentle 
government for your people," answered the old man. 
"I thank you for your kindness to this precious 
orphan. For myself, I am fast going where I shall 
need less than ever the gifts of princes." 


"Would you not like to be buried with regal 
honour, in your native Clazomena??" inquired the 

The philosopher again pointed upward as he re- 
plied, "Nay. The road to heaven would be no 
shorter from Clazomenee." 

"And what monument would you have reared to 
mark the spot where Anaxagoras sleeps?" said 

"I wish to be buried after the ancient manner, 
with the least possible trouble and expense," rejoined 
the invalid. "The money you would expend for a 
monument may be given to some captive sighing in 
bondage. Let an almond tree be planted near my 
grave, that the boys may love to come there, as to a 
pleasant home." 

"The citizens of Lampsacus, hearing of your ill- 
ness, requested me to ask what they should do in 
honour of your memory, when it pleased the gods to 
call you hence. What response do you give to this 
message?" inquired the prince. 

The philosopher answered, "Say to them that I 
desire all the children may have a holiday on the 
anniversary of my death." 

Chryisppus remained silent for a few moments; 
and then continued: "Anaxagoras, I perceive that 
you are strangely unlike other mortals ; and I know 
not how you will receive the proposal I am about to 
make. Philothea has glided from the apartment, 
as if afraid to remain in my presence. That grace- 
ful maiden is too lovely for any destiny meaner than 
a royal marriage. As a kinsman, I have the best 
claim to her ; and if it be your will, I will divorce my 

171 PH1L0THEA. 

Phoenician Astarte, and make Philothea princess of 

" Thanks, son of Basileon," replied the old man; 
"but I love the innocent orphan too well to bestow 
upon her the burden and the dangers of royalty." 

" None could dispute your own right to exchange 
power and wealth for philosophy and poverty," said 
Chrysippus ; "but though you are the lawful guardian 
of this maiden, I deem it unjust to reject a splendid 
alliance without her knowledge." 

"Philothea gave her affections to Paralus, even in 
the days of their childhood," replied Anaxagoras; 
"and she is of a nature too divine to place much 
value on the splendour that passes away." 

The prince seemed disturbed and chagrined by 
this imperturbable spirit of philosophy ; and after a 
few brief remarks retreated to the portico. 

Here he entered into conversation with Plato; and 
after some general discourse, spoke of his wishes 
with regard to Philothea. "Anaxagoras rejects the 
alliance," said he, smiling; "but take my word for 
it, the maiden would not dismiss the matter thus 
lightly. I have never yet seen a woman who prefer- 
red philosophy to princes." 

"Kings are less fortunate than philosophers," re- 
sponded Plato ; "I have known several wom^n, who 
preferred wisdom to gold. Could Chrysippus look 
into those divine eyes, and yet believe that Philo- 
thea' s soul would rejoice iu the pomp of princes?" 

The wealthy son of Basileon still remained incred- 
ulous of any exceptions to woman's vanity; and fin- 
ally obtained a promise from Plato, that he would use 


his influence with his friend to have the matter left 
entirely to Philothea's decision. 

When the maiden was asked by her grandfather, 
whether she would be the wife of Paralus, smitten 
by the hand of disease, or princess of Clazomense, 
surrounded by more grandeur than Penelope could 
boast in her proudest days — her innocent counte- 
nance expressed surprise, not unmingled with fear, 
that the mind of Anaxagoras was wandering. But 
when assured that Chrysippus seriously proposed to 
divorce his wife and marry her, a feeling of humilia- 
tion came over her, that a man, ignorant of the qual- 
ities of her soul, should be thus captivated by her 
outward beauty, and regard it as a thing to be 
bought with gold. But the crimson tint soon sub- 
sided from her transparent cheek, and she quietly re- 
plied, "Tell the prince of Clazomenae that I have 
never learned to value riches; nor could I do so, 
without danger of being exiled far from my divine 
home." , 

When these words were repeated to Chrysippus, 
he exclaimed impatiently, " Curse on the folly which 
philosophers dignify with the name of wisdom ! " 

After this, nothing could restore the courtesy he 
had previously assumed. He scarcely tasted the 
offered fruit and wine; bade a cold farewell, and 
soon rolled away in his splendid chariot, followed by 
his train of attendants. 

This unexpected interview produced a singular 
excitement in the mind of Anaxagoras. All the oc- 
currences of his youth passed vividly before him; 
and things forgotten for years were remembered like 
events of the past hour. Plato sat by his side till the 



evening twilight deepened, listening as he recounted 
scenes long since witnessed in Athens. When they 
entreated him to seek repose, he reluctantly assented, 
and said to his friend, with a gentle pressure of the 
hand, " Farewell, son of Aristo. Pray for me before 
you retire to your couch." 

Plato parted the silver hairs, and imprinted a kiss 
on his forehead ; then crowning himself with a gar- 
land, he knelt before an altar that stood in the apart- 
ment, and prayed aloud : " O thou, who art King of 
Heaven, life and death are in thy hand ! Grant 
what is good for us, whether we ask it, or ask it 
not ; and refuse that which would be hurtful, even 
when we ask it most earnestly." 

" That contains the spirit of all prayer," said the 
old philosopher. "And now, Plato, go to thy rest; 
and I will go to mine. Very pleasant have thy 
words been to me. Even like the murmuring of 
fountains in a parched and sandy desert." 

When left alone with his grandchild and Milza, 
the invalid still seemed unusually excited, and his 
eyes shone with unwonted brightness. Again he 
recurred to his early years, and talked fondly of his 
wife and children. He dwelt on the childhood of 
Philothea with peculiar pleasure. " Often, very 
often," said he, "thy infant smiles and artless speech 
led my soul to divine things; when, without thee, 
the link would have been broken, and the communi- 
cation lost." 

He held her hand affectionately in his, and often 
drew her toward him, that he might kiss her cheek. 
Late in the night, sleep began to steal over him with 



gentle influence ; and Philothea was afraid to move, 
lest she should disturb his slumbers. 

Milza reposed on a couch close by her side, ready 
to obey the slightest summons; the small earthen 
lamp that stood on the floor, shaded by an open 
tablet, burned dim ; and the footsteps of Plato were 
faintly heard in the stillness of the night, as he softly 
paced to and fro in the open portico. 

Philothea leaned her head upon the couch, and 
gradually yielded to the drowsy influence. 

When she awoke, various objects in the apartment 
were indistinctly revealed by the dawning light. 
All was deeply quiet. She remained kneeling by 
her grandfather's side, and her hand was still clasped 
in his ; but it was chilled beneath his touch. She 
arose, gently placed his arm on the couch, and 
looked upon his face. A placid smile rested on his 
features ; and she saw that his spirit had passed in 

She awoke Milza, and desired that the household 
might be summoned. As they stood around the 
couch of that venerable man, Geta and Milza wept 
bitterly ; but Philothea calmly kissed his cold cheek; 
and Plato looked on him with serene affection, as he 
said, "So sleep the good." 

A lock of grey hair suspended on the door, and a 
large vase of water at the threshold, early announced 
to the villagers that the soul of Anaxagoras had 
passed from its earthly tenement. The boys came 
with garlands to decorate the funeral conch of the 
beloved old man; and no tribute of respect was 
wanting ; for all that knew him blessed his memory. 

He was buried, as he had desired, near the clepsy- 


dra in the little brook; a young almond tree was 
planted on his grave; and for years after, all the 
children commemorated the anniversary of his death, 
by a festival called Anaxagoreia. 

Pericles had sent two discreet matrons, and four 
more youthful attendants, to accompany Philothea 
to Athens, in case she consented to become the wife 
of Paralus. The morning after the decease of Anax- 
agoras, Plato sent a messenger to Lampsacus, desir- 
ing the presence of these women, accompanied by 
Euago and his household. As soon as the funeral 
rites were passed, he entreated Philothea to accept 
the offered protection of Euago, the friend of his 
youth, and connected by marriage with the house of 
Pericles. "I urge it the more earnestly," said he, 
" because I think you have reason to fear the power 
and resentment of Chrysippus. Princes do not wil- 
lingly relinquish a pursuit; and his train could 
easily seize you and your attendants, without resist- 
ance from these simple villagers." 

Aglaonice, wife of Euago, likewise urged the or- 
phan, in the most affectionate manner, to return with 
them to Lampsacus, and there await the departure 
of the galley. Philothea acknowledged the propriety 
of removal, and felt deeply thankful for the protecting 
influence of her friends. The simple household fur- 
niture was given to Milza ; her own wardrobe, with 
many little things that had become dear to her, were 
deposited in the chariot of Euago ; the weeping vil- 
lagers had taken an affectionate farewell ; and sac- 
rifices to the gods had been offered on the altar in 
front of the dwelling. 


Still Philothea lingered and gazed on the beautiful 
scenes where she had passed so many tranquil hours. 
Tears mingled with her smiles, as she said, "O, 
how hard it is to believe the spirit of Anaxagoras 
will be as near me in Athens, as it is here, where his 
bones lie buried !" 



One day, the muses twined the hands 
Of infant love with flowery bands, 
And gave the smiling captive boy 
To be Celestial Beauty's joy. 


While Philothea remained at Lampsacus, await- 
ing the arrival of the galley, news came that Chrysip- 
pus, with a company of horsemen, had been to her 
former residence, under the pretext of paying funeral 
rites to his deceased relative. At the same time, sev- 
eral robes, mantles, and veils, were brought from 
Heliodora at Ephesus, with the request that they, 
as well as the silver tripod, should be considered, not 
as a dowry, but as gifts to be disposed of as she 
pleased. The priestess mentioned feeble health as a 
reason for not coming in person to bid the orphan 
farewell; and promised that sacrifices and prayers 
for her happines should be duly offered at the shrine 
of radiant Phoebus. 

Philothe'a smiled to remember how long she had 
lived in Ionia without attracting the notice of her 
princely relatives, until her name became connected 
with the illustrious house of Pericles ; but she meek- 
ly returned thanks and friendly wishes, together 
with the writings of Simonides, beautifully copied 
by her own hand. 

The day of departure at length arrived. All along 
the shore might be seen smoke rising from the altars 
of Poseidon, iEolus, Castor and Polydeuces, and the 
sea-green Sisters of the Deep. To the usual danger 
of winds and storms was added the fear of encounter- 


ing hostile fleets ; and every power that presided 
over the destinies of sailors was invoked by the anx- 
ious mariners. But their course seemed more like 
an excursion in a pleasure barge, than a voyage on 
the ocean. They rowed along beneath a calm and 
sunny sky, keeping close to the verdant shores, 
where, ever and anon, temples, altars, and statues, 
peeped forth amid groves of cypress and cedar ; under 
the shadow of which many a festive train hailed 
the soft approach of spring, with pipe, and song, 
and choral dance. 

The tenth day saw the good ship Halcyone safely 
moored in the harbour of Phalerum, chosen in prefer- 
ence to the more crowded and diseased port of the 
Pirseus. The galley having been perceived at a dis- 
tance, Pericles and Clinias were waiting, with char- 
iots, in readiness to convey Philothea and her attend- 
ants. The first inquiries of Pericles were concern- 
ing the health of Anaxagoras ; and he seemed deeply 
affected, when informed that he would behold his 
face no more. Philothea's heart was touched by the 
tender solemnity of his manner when he bade her 
welcome to Athens. Plato anticipated the anxious 
question that trembled on her tongue ; and a brief 
answer indicated that no important change had 
taken place in Paralus. Clinias kindly urged the 
claims of himself and wife to be considered the 
parents of the orphan ; and they all accompanied 
her to his house, attended by boys burning incense, 
as a protection against the pestilential atmosphere of 
the marshy grounds. 

When they alighted, Philothea timidly, but ear- 
nestly, asked to see Paralus without delay. Their 


long-cherished affection, the full communion of soul 
they had enjoyed together, and the peculiar visitation 
which now rested on him, all combined to make her 
forgetful of ceremony. 

Pericles went to seek his son, and found him re- 
clining on the couch where he had left him. The 
invalid seemed to be in a state of deep abstraction, 
and offered no resistance as they led him to the 
chariot. When they entered the house of Clinias, he 
looked around with a painful expression of weari- 
ness, until they tenderly placed him on a couch. He 
was evidently disturbed by the presence of those 
about him, but unmindful of any familiar faces, until 
Philothea suddenly knelt by his side, and throwing 
back her veil, said, " Paralus ! dear Paralus ! Do 
you not know me?" Then his whole face kindled 
with an expression of joy, so intense that Pericles for 
a moment thought the faculties of his soul were 
completely restored. 

But the first words he uttered showed a total un- 
consciousness of past events. "Oh, Philothea!" he 
exclaimed^ "I have not heard your voice since last 
night, when you came to me and sung that beautiful 
welcome to the swallows, which all the little chil- 
dren like so well." 

On the preceding evening, Philothea, being urged 
by her maidens to sing, had actually warbled that 
little song ; thinking all the while of the days of 
childhood, when she and Paralus used to sing it, to 
please their young companions. When she heard 
this mysterious allusion to the music, she looked at 
Plato with an expression of surprise; while Milza 


and the other attendants seemed afraid in the pres- 
ence of one thus visited by the gods. 

With looks full of beaming affection, the invalid 
continued: "And now, Philothea, we will again 
walk to that pleasant place, where we went when 
you finished the song." 

In low and soothing toneSj the maiden inquired, 
" Where did we go, Paralus?" 

"Have you forgotten?" he replied. "We went 
hand in hand up a high mountain. A path wound 
round it in spiral flexures, ever ascending, and com- 
municating with all above and all below. A stream 
of water, pure as crystal, flowed along the path, from 
the summit to the base. Where we stood to rest 
awhile, the skies were of transparent, blue; but 
higher up, the light was purple and the trees full of 
doves.- We saw little children leading lambs to 
drink at the stream, and they raised their voices in 
glad shouts, to see the bright waters go glancing and 
glittering down the sides of the mountain." 

He remained silent and motionless for several 
minutes; and then continued: "But this path is 
dreary. I do not like this wide marsh, and these 
ruined temples. Who spoke then and told me it was 
Athens? But now I see the groves of Academus. 
There is a green meadow in the midst, on which 
rests a broad belt of sunshine. Above it, are float- 
ing little children with wings ; and they throw down 
garlands to little children without wings, who are 
looking upward with joyful faces. Oh, how beauti- 
ful they are ! Come, Philothea, let us join them." 

The. philosopher smiled, and inwardly hailed the 
words as an omen auspicious to his doctrines. All 


who listened were deeply impressed by language so 

The silence remained unbroken, until Paralus 
asked for music. A cithara being brought, Philo- 
thea played one of his favourite songs, accompanied 
by her voice. The well-remembered sounds seemed 
to fill him with joy beyond his power to express ; and 
again his anxious parent cherished the hope that 
reason would be fully restored. 

He put his hand affectionately on Philothea's 
head, as he said, " Your presence evidently has a 
blessed influence ; but oh, my daughter, what "a 
sacrifice you are making — young and beautiful as 
you are !" 

"Nay, Pericles," she replied, "I deem it a privi- 
lege once more to hear the sound of his voice ; though 
it speaks a strange, unearthly language." 

When they attempted to lead the invalid from the 
apartment, and Philothea, with -a tremulous voice, 
said, "Farewell, Paralus," — an expression of intense 
gloom came over his countenance, suddenly as a 
sunny field is obscured by passing clouds. "Not 
farewell to Eurydice !" he said: "It is sad music — 
sad music." 

The tender-hearted maiden was affected even to 
tears, and found it hard to submit to a temporary 
separation. But Pericles assured her that his son 
would probably soon fall asleep, and awake without 
any recollection of recent events. Before she retired 
to her couch, a messenger was sent to inform her 
that Paralus was in deep repose. 

Clinias having removed from the unhealthy Pirae- 
us, in search of purer atmosphere, Philothea found 

182 PH1L0THEA. 

him in the house once occupied by Phidias ; and the 
hope that scenes of past happiness might prove salu- 
tary to the mind of Paralus, induced Pericles to 
prepare the former dwelling of Anaxagoras for his 
bridal home. The friends and relations of the invalid 
were extremely desirous to have Philothea's soothing 
influence continually exerted upon him ; and the 
disinterested maiden earnestly wished to devote every 
moment of her life to the restoration of his precious 
health. Under these circumstances, it was deemed 
best that the marriage should take place immediately. 
► The mother of Paralus had died; and Aspasia, 
with cautious delicacy, declined being present at the 
ceremony, under the pretext of ill health ; bat Phoen- 
arete, the wife of Clinias, gladly consented to act as 
mother of the orphan bride. 

Propitiatory sacrifices were duly offered to Artemis, 
Hera, Pallas, Aphrodite, the Fates, and the Graces. 
On the appointed day, Philothea appeared in bridal 
garments, prepared by Phoenarete. The robe of fine 
Milesian texture, was saffron-coloured, with a purple 
edge. Over this, was a short tunic of brilliant crim- 
son, confined at the waist by an embroidered zone, 
fastened with a broad clasp of gold. Glossy braids 
of hair were intertwined with the folds of her rose- 
coloured veil; and both bride and bridegroom were 
crowned with garlands of roses and myrtle. The 
chariot, in which they were seated, was followed by 
musicians, and a long train of friends and relatives. 
Arrived at the temple of Hera, the priest presented a 
branch, which they held between them as a symbol 
of the ties about to unite them. Victims were sacri- 
ficed, and the omens declared not unpropitious. When 


the gall had been cast behind the altar, Clinias placed 
Philothea's hand, within the hand of Paralus ; the 
bride dedicated a ringlet of her hair to Hera; the 
customary vows were pronounced by the priest ; and 
the young couple were presented with golden cups of 
wine, from which they poured libations. The invalid 
was apparently happy; but so unconscious of the 
scene he was acting, that his father was obliged to 
raise his hand and pour forth the wine. 

The ceremonies being finished, the priest reminded 
Philothea that when a good wife died, Persephone 
formed a procession of the best women to scatter 
flowers in her path, and lead her spirit to Elysium. 
As he spoke, two doves alighted on the altar ; but 
one immediately rose, and floated above the other, 
with a tender cooing sound. Its mate looked upward 
for a moment; and then both of them rose high in 
the air, and disappeared. The spectators hailed this 
as an auspicious omen ; but Philothea pondered it in 
her heart, and thought she perceived a deeper mean- 
ing than was visible to them. 

As the company returned, with the joyful sound 
of music, many a friendly hand threw garlands from 
the housetops, and many voices pronounced a bless- 

In consideration of the health of Paralus, the 
customary evening procession was dispensed with. 
An abundant feast was prepared at the house of 
Clinias. The gentle and serious bride joined with 
her female friends in the apartments of the women; 
but no bridegroom appeared at the banquet of the 

As the guests seated themselves at table, a boy 


came in covered with thorn-boughs and acorns, 
bearing a golden basket filled with bread, and sing- 
ing, "I have left the worse and found the better." 
As he passed through the rooms, musicians began to 
play on various instruments, and troops of young 
dancers moved in airy circles to the sound. 

At an early hour, Philothea went to the apart- 
ment prepared for her in the home of her childhood. 
Phoenarete preceded her with a lighted torch, and 
her female attendants followed, accompanied by 
young Pericles, bearing on his head a vase of water 
from the Fountain of Callirhoe, with which custom 
required that the bride's feet should be bathed. 
Music was heard until a late hour, and epithalamia 
were again resumed with the morning light. 

The next day, a procession of women brought the 
bridal gifts of friends and relatives, preceded by a 
boy clothed in white, carrying a torch in one hand, 
and a basket of flowers in the other. Philothea, 
desirous to please the father of her husband, had 
particularly requested that this office might be per- - 
formed by the youthful Pericles — a beautiful boy, the 
only son of Aspasia. The gifts were numerous ; 
consisting of embroidered sandals, perfume boxes of 
ivory inlaid with gold, and various other articles, for 
use or ornament. Pericles sent a small ivory statue 
of Persephone gathering flowers in the vale of Enna; 
and Aspasia a clasp, representing the Naiades floating 
with the infant Eros, bound in garlands. The 
figures were intaglio, in a gem of transparent cerulean 
hue, and delicately painted. When viewed from the 
opposite side, the effect was extremely beautiful ; for 
the graceful nymphs seemed actually moving in 

P 1-1 I L O T H E A . 185 

their native element. Alcibiades presented a Sidonian 
veil, of roseate hue and glossy texture. Phoenarete 
bestowed a ring, on which was carved a dancing 
Oread; and Plato a cameo clasp, representing the 
infant Eros crowning a lamb with a garland of lilies. 

On the third day, custom allowed every relative to 
see the bride with her face unveiled; and the fame 
of her surpassing beauty induced the remotest con- 
nections of the family to avail themselves of the 
privilege. Philothea meekly complied with these 
troublesome requisitions ; but her heart was weary for 
quiet hours, that she might hold free communion with 
Paralus, in that beautiful spirit-land, where his soul 
was wandering before its time. 

Music, and the sound of Philothea's voice, seemed 
the only links that connected him with a world of 
shadows; but his visions were so blissful, and his 
repose so full of peace, that restless and ambitious 
men might well have envied a state thus singularly 
combining the innocence of childhood with the rich 
imagination of maturer years. 

Many weeks passed away in bright tranquillity; 
and the watchful wife thought she at times perceived 
faint indication of returning health. Geta and Milza, 
in compliance with their own urgent entreaties, were 
her constant assistants in nursing the invalid; and 
more than once she imagined that he looked at them 
with an earnest expression, as if his soul were 
returning to the recollections of former years. 

Spring ripened into summer. The olive-garlands 
twined with wool, suspended on the doors during 
the festival of Thargelia, had withered and fallen; 


and all men talked of the approaching commemora- 
tion of the Olympic games. 

Hippocrates had been informed that Tithonus, the 
Ethiopian, possessed the singular power of leading 
the soul from the body, and again restoring it to its 
functions, by means of a soul-directing wand; and 
the idea arose in his mind, that this process might 
produce a salutary effect on Paralus. 

The hopes of the anxious father were easily kindled ; 
and he at once became desirous that his son should 
be conveyed to Olympia; for it was reported that 
Tithonus would be present at the games. 

Philothea sighed deeply, as she listened to the 
proposition; for she had faith only in the healing 
power of perfect quiet, and the free communion of 
congenial souls. She yielded to the opinion of Per- 
icles with characteristic humility; but the despon- 
dency of her tones did not pass unobserved. 

" It is partly for your sake that I wish it, my poor 
child," said he. "If it may be avoided, I will not 
see the whole of your youth consumed in anxious 

The young wife looked up with a serene and 
bright expression, as she replied, "Nay, my father, 
you have never seen me anxious, or troubled. I have 
known most perfect contentment since my union 
with your son." 

Pericles answered affectionately, "I believe it, my 
daughter; and I have marvelled at your cheerfulness. 
Assuredly, with more than Helen's beauty, you have 
inherited the magical Egyptian powder, whereby 
she drove away all care and melancholy." 



Iphegenia — Absent so long, with joy I look on thee. 
Agamemnon — And I on thee ; so this is mutual joy. 


In accordance with the advice of Hippocrates, the 
journey to Olympia was undertaken. Some time 
before the commencement of the games, a party, 
consisting of Pericles, Plato, Paralus, Philothea, and 
their attendants, made preparations for departure. 

Having kissed the earth of Athens, and sacrificed 
to Hermes and Hecate, the protectors of travellers, 
they left the city at the Dipylon Gate, and entered 
the road leading to Eleusis. The country presented 
a cheerless aspect; for fields and vineyards once 
fruitful were desolated by ferocious war. But relig- 
ious veneration had protected the altars, and their 
chaste simplicity breathed the spirit of peace ; while 
the beautiful little rustic temples of Demeter, in com- 
memoration of her wanderings in search of the lost 
Persephone, spoke an ideal language, soothing to 
the heart amid the visible traces of man's destructive 

During the solemnization of the Olympic Games, 
the bitterest animosities were laid aside. The in- 
habitants of states carrying on a deadly war with 
each other, met in peace and friendship. Even 
Megara, with all her hatred to Athens, gave the 
travellers a cordial welcome. In every house they 
entered, bread, wine, and salt, were offered to Zens 
Xinias, the patron of hospitality. 


A pleasant grove of cypress trees announced the 
vicinity of Corinth, famed for its magnificence and 
beauty. A foot-path from the grove led to a secluded 
spot, where water was spouted forth by a marble 
dolphin, at the foot of a brazen statue of Poseidon. 

The travellers descended from their chariots to 
rest under the shadow of the lofty plane trees, and 
refresh themselves with a draught from the fountain. 
The public road was thronged with people on their 
way to Olympia. Most of them drove with renewed 
eagerness to enter Corinth before the evening twi- 
light; for nearly all travellers made it a point to visit 
the remarkable scenes in this splendid and voluptu- 
ous city, the Paris of the ancient world. A few were 
attracted by the cool murmuring of the waters, and 
turned aside to the fountain of Poseidon. Among 
these was Artaphernes the Persian, who greeted 
Pericles, and made known his friend Orsames, lately 
arrived from Ecbatana. The stranger said he had 
with him a parcel for Anaxagoras; and inquired 
whether any tidings of that philosopher had been 
lately received in Athens. Pericles informed them 
of the death of the good old man, and mentioned 
that his grand-daughter, accompanied by her hus- 
band and attendants, was then in a retired part of 
the grove. The Persian took from his chariot a roll 
of parchment and a small box, and placed them in 
the hands of Geta, to be conveyed to Philothea. The 
tears came to her eyes, when she discovered that it 
was a friendly epistle from Philsemon to his beloved 
old master. It appeared to have been written soon 
after he heard of his exile, and was accompanied by 
a gift of four minae. His own situation was de- 


scribed as happy as it could be in a foreign land. 
His time was principally employed in instructing 
the sons of the wealthy satrap, Megabyzus ; a situa- 
tion which he owed to the friendly recommendation 
of Artaphemes. At the close, after many remarks 
concerning the politics of Athens, he expressed a 
wish to be informed of Eudora's fate, and an earnest 
hope that she was not beyond the reach of Philo- 
thea's influence. 

This letter awakened busy thoughts. The happy 
past and a cheerful future were opened to her mind, 
in all the distinctness of memory and the brightness 
of hope. At such moments, her heart yearned for 
the ready sympathy she had been wont to receive 
from Paralus. As she drew aside the curtains of 
the litter, and looked upon him in tranquil slumber, 
she thought of the wonderful gift of Tithonus, with 
an intense anxiety, to which her quiet spirit was 
usually a stranger. Affectionate recollections of Eu- 
dora, and the anticipated joy of meeting, mingled 
with this deeper tide of feeling, and increased her 
desire to arrive at the end of their journey. Pericles 
shared her anxiety, and admitted no delays but such 
as were necessary for the health of the invalid. 

From Corinth they passed into the pleasant val- 
leys of Arcadia, encircled with verdant hills. Here 
nature reigned in simple beauty, unadorned by the 
magnificence of art. The rustic temples were gene- 
ally composed of intertwined trees, in the recesses of 
which were placed wooden images of Pan, "the 
simple shepherd's awe-inspiring god." Here and 
there an aged man reposed in the shadow of some 
venerable oak; and the shepherds, as they tended 


their flocks, welcomed this brief interval of peace 
with the mingled music of reeds and flutes. 

Thence the travellers passed into the broad and 
goodly plains of Elis ; protected from the spoiler by 
its sacred character, as the seat of the Olympic 
Games. In some places, troops of women might be 
seen in the distance, washing garments in the river 
Alpheus, and spreading them out to whiten in the 
sun. Fertility rewarded the labours of the husband- 
men, and the smiling fields yielded pasturage to 
numerous horses, which Phoebus himself might have 
prized for strength, fleetness, and majestic beauty. 

Paralus passed through all these scenes entirely 
unconscious whether they were sad or cheerful. 
When he spoke, it was of things unrecognized by 
those of earthly mould : yet those who heard him 
found therein a strange and marvellous beauty, that 
seemed not altogether new to the soul, but was seen 
in a dim and pleasing light, like the recollections of 
infant years. 

The travellers stopped at a small town in the 
neighbourhood of Olympia, where Paralus, Philo- 
thea, and their attendants were to remain during the 
solemnization of the games. The place chosen for 
their retreat was the residence of Proclus and his 
wife Melissa ; worthy, simple-hearted people, at 
whose house Phidias had died, and under whose pro- 
tection he had placed Eudora. 

As the chariots approached the house, the loud 
barking of Hylax attracted the attention of Zoila, 
the merry little daughter of Proclus, who was play- 
ing in the fields with her brother Pterilaus. The 
moment the children espied a sight so unusual in 


that secluded place, they ran with all speed to carry- 
tidings to the household. Eudora was busy at the 
loom ; but she went out to look upon the strangers, 
saying, as she did so, that they were doubtless 
travellers, who, in passing to the Olympic Games, 
had missed their way. 

Her heart beat lumultuously when she saw Hylax 
capering and fawning about a man who bore a strong 
resemblance to Geta. The next moment, she recog- 
nized Pericles and Plato speaking with a tall, majestic 
looking woman, closely veiled. She darted forward 
a few paces, in the eagerness of her joy; but checked 
herself when she perceived that the stranger lingered; 
for she said, in her heart, "If it were Philothea, she 
could not be so slow in coming to meet me." 

Thus she reasoned, not knowing that Philothea 
was the wife of Paralus, and that his enfeebled 
health required watchful care. In a few moments 
her doubts were dispelled, and the friends were 
locked in each others' arms. 

Proclus gave the travellers a hospitable reception, 
and cheerfully consented that Paralus and his attend- 
ants should remain with them. Pericles, having 
made all necessary arrangements for the beloved in- 
valid, bade an early farewell, and proceeded with 
Plato to Olympia. 

When Geta and Milza had received a cordial wel- 
come: and Hylax had somewhat abated his boister- 
ous joy; and old Dione, with the tears in her eyes, 
had brought forward treasures of grapes and wine — 
Eudora eagerly sought a private interview with the 
friend of her childhood. 

"Dearest Philothea!" she exclaimed, "I thought 


you were still in Ionia; and I never expected to see 
you again; and now you have come, my heart is so 

Unable to finish the sentence, she threw herself on 
that bosom where she had ever found sympathy in 
all her trials, and sobbed like a child. 

-'My beloved Eudora," said Philothea, "you still 
carry with you a heart easily kindled; affections 
that heave and blaze like a volcano." 

The maiden looked up affectionately, and smiled 
through her tears, as she said, " The love you 
kindled in infancy has burned none the less strongly 
because there was no one to cherish it. If the volcano 
now blazes, it only proves how faithfully it has. car- 
ried the hidden fire in its bosom." 

She paused, and spoke more sadly, as she added, 
" There was, indeed, one brief period, when it was 
well-nigh smothered. Would to the gods, that might 
pass into oblivion! But it will not. After Phidias 
came to Elis, he made for Plato a small statue of 
Mnemosyne, that turned and looked upward to 
Heaven, while she held a half-opened scroll toward 
the earth. It was beautiful beyond description ; but 
there was bitterness in my heart when I looked upon 
it : I thought Memory should be represented armed 
with the scourge of the Furies." 

"And did you not perceive," said Philothea, "that 
yourself had armed the benignant goddess with a 
scourge? Thus do the best gifts from the Divine 
Fountain become changed by the will of those who 
receive them. But, dearest Eudora, though your 
heart retains its fire, a change has passed over your 
countenance. The cares of this world have driven 

P H I L T H E A. 193 

away the spirit of gladness, that came with you from 
your divine home. That smiling twin of Innocence 
is ever present and visible while we are unconscious 
of its existence; but when in darkness and sorrow 
the soul asks where it lias gone, a hollow voice, like 
the sound of autumn winds, echoes, 'Gone!'" 

Eudora sighed, as she answered, "It is even so. 
But I know not where you could have learned it; 
for you have ever seemed to live in a region above 
darkness and storms. Earth has left no shadow on 
your countenance. It expresses the same transpa- 
rent innocence, the same mild love. A light not of 
this world is gleaming there; and it has grown 
brighter and clearer since we parted. I could almost 
believe that you accompany Hera to the Fountain of 
Canathus, where it is said she every year bathes to 
restore her infant purity." 

Philothea smiled, as she playfully laid her hand 
on Eudora's mouth, and said, "Nay, Eudora, you 
forget that flattery produces effects very unlike the 
Fountain, of Canathus. We have been gazing in 
each other's faces, as if we fondly hoped there to 
read the record of all that has passed since we were 
separated. Yet, very little of all that we have known 
and felt — of all that has gradually become a portion 
of our life — is inscribed there. Perhaps you already 
know that Anaxagoras fell asleep in Ionia. The 
good old man died in peace, as he had lived in love. 
If I mistake not, while I talked with Pericles, Milza 
informed you that I was the wife of Paralus?" 

" Yes, dearest Philothea ; but not till she had first 
told me of her own marriage with Geta." 

Philothea smiled, as she replied, "I believe it is 


the only case in which that affectionate creature 
thinks of herself, before she thinks of me; but Geta 
is to her an object of more importance than all the 
world beside. When we were in Ionia, I often found 
her whispering magical words, while she turned the 
sieve and shears, to ascertain whether her lover were 
faithful to his vows. I could not find it in my heart 
to reprove her fond credulity; — for I believe this 
proneness to wander beyond the narrow limits of the 
visible world is a glimmering reminiscence of parent- 
age divine; and though in Milza's untutored mind 
the mysterious impulse takes an inglorious form, I 
dare not deride what the wisest soul can neither 
banish nor comprehend." 

As she finished speaking, she glanced toward the 
curtain, which separated them from the room where 
Paralus reposed, watched by the faithful Geta. There 
was a tender solemnity in the expression of her coun- 
tenance, whereby Eudora conjectured the nature of 
her thoughts. Speaking in a subdued voice, she 
asked whether Paralus would inquire for her, when 
he awoke. 

" He will look for me, and seem bewildered, as if 
something were lost," replied Philothea. "Since I 
perceived this, I have been careful not to excite pain- 
ful sensations by my absence. Geta will give me 
notice when slumber seems to be passing away." 

"And do you think Tithonus can restore him?" 
inquired Eudora. 

Philothea answered, "Fear is stronger than hope. 
I thought I perceived a healing influence in the per- 
fect quiet and watchful love that surrounded him in 
Athens; and to these I would fain have trusted, had 


it been the will of Pericles. But, dearest Eudora, let 
us not speak on this subject. It seems to me like 
the sacred groves, into which nothing unconsecrated 
may enter." 

After a short pause, Eudora said, "Then I will tell 
you my own history. After we came to Elis, Phidias 
treated me with more tenderness and confidence than 
he had ever done. Perhaps he observed that my 
proud, impetuous character was chastened and sub- 
dued by affliction and repentance. Though we were 
in the habit of talking unreservedly, he never alluded 
to the foolish conduct that offended him so seriously. 
I felt grateful for this generous forbearance; and by 
degress I learned to fear him less and love him 

" We received some tidings of him when Plato 
came into Ionia," rejoined Philothea; " and we re- 
joiced to learn that he found in Elis a rich recom- 
pense for the shameful ingratitude of Athens." 

"It was a rich recompense, indeed," replied Eu- 
dora. "The people reverenced him as if he were 
something more than mortal. His statue stands in 
the sacred grove at Olympia, bearing the simple in- 
scription ; 'Phidias, Son of Charmides, sculptor of the 
Gods.' At his death, the Elians bestowed gifts on 
all his servants; endowed me with the yearly reve- 
nues of a farm ; and appointed his nephew Pandasnus 
to the honourable office of preserving the statue of 
Olympian Zeus." 

" Did Phidias express no anxiety concerning your 
unprotected situation?" inquired Philothea. 

" It was his wish that I should marry Pandsenus," 
answered Eudora; "but he urged the subject no 


farther, when he found that I regarded the marriage 
with aversion. On his death-bed he charged his 
nephew to protect and cherish me as a sister. He 
left me under the guardianship of Proclus, with 
strict injunctions that I should have perfect freedom 
in the choice of a husband. He felt no anxiety con- 
cerning my maintenance ; for the Elians had prom- 
ised that all persons connected with him should be 
liberally provided at the public expense ; and I was 
universally considered as the adopted daughter of 

" And what did Pandaenus say to the wishes of his 
uncle?"' asked Philothea. 

Eudora blushed slightly as she answered. " He 
tried to convince me that we should all be happier, 
if I would consent to the arrangement. I could not 
believe this; and Pandaenus was too proud to repeat 
his solicitations to a reluctant listener. I seldom see 
him; but when there is opportunity to do me service, 
he is very kind." 

Her friend looked earnestly upon her, as if seek- 
ing to read her heart; and inquired, "Has no other 
one gained your affections 1 I had some fears that 
I should find you married." 

" And why did you fear?" said Eudora: "Other 
friends would consider it a joyful occasion." 

" But I feared, because I have ever cherished the 
hope that you would be the wife of Philaemon," re- 
joined her companion. 

The sensitive maiden sighed deeply, and turned 
away her head, as she said, with a tremulous voice, 
" I have little doubt that Philasmon has taken a Per- 
sian wife, before this time." 


Philothea made no reply ; but searched for the 
epistle she had received at Corinth, and placed it in 
the hands of her friend. Eudora started, when she 
saw the well-known writing of Philaernom But 
when she read the sentence wherein he expressed af- 
fectionate solicitude for her welfare, she threw her 
arms convulsively about Philothea' s neck, exclaim- 
ing, " Oh, my beloved friend, what a blessed mes- 
senger you have ever been to this poor heart I" 

For some moments, her agitation was extreme ; 
but that gentle influence, which had so often soothed 
her, gradually calmed her perturbed feelings ; and 
they talked freely of the possibility of regaining 
Philsemon's love. 

As Eudora stood leaning on her shoulder, Philo- 
thea, struck with the contrast in their figures, said : 
" When you were in Athens, we called you the 
Zephyr ; and surely you are thinner now than you 
were then. I fear your health surfers from the anx- 
iety of your mind. " See !" continued she, turning 
towards^ the mirror — "See what a contrast there is 
between us !" 

"There should be a contrast," rejoined Eudora, 
smiling : " The pillars of agoras are always of lighter 
and less majestic proportions than the pillars of tem- 

As she spoke, Geta lifted the curtain, and Philo- 
thea instantly obeyed the signal. For a few mo- 
ments after her departure, Eudora heard the low 
murmuring of voices, and then the sound of a cithara, 
whose tones she well remembered. The tune was 
familiar to her in happier days, and she listened to it 
with tears. 


Her meditations were suddenly disturbed by little 
Zoila, who came in with a jump and a bound, to 
show a robe full of flowers she had gathered for the 
beautiful Athenian lady. When she perceived that 
tears had fallen on the blossoms, she suddenly 
changed her merry tones, and with artless affection 
inquired, "What makes Dora cry?" 

"I wept for the husband of that beautiful Athen- 
ian lady, because he is very ill," replied the maiden. 

" See the flowers!" exclaimed Zoila. "It looks 
as if the dew was on it ; but the tears will not make 
it grow again — will they?" 

Eudora involuntarily shuddered at the omen con- 
veyed in her childish words ; but gave permission to 
carry her offering to the Athenian lady, if she would 
promise to step very softly, and speak in whispers. 

Philothea received the flowers thankfully, and 
placed them in vases near her husband's couch; for 
she still fondly hoped to win back the wandering 
soul by the presence of things peaceful, pure, and 
beautiful. She caressed the innocent little one, and 
tried to induce her to remain a few minutes; but the 
child seemed uneasy, as if in the presence of some- 
thing that inspired fear. She returned to Eudora 
with a very thoughtful countenance ; and though 
she often gathered flowers for "the tall infant," as she 
called Paralus, she could never after be persuaded to 
enter his apartment. 



They in me breathed a voice 
Divine ; that I might know, with listening ears, 
Things past and future; and enjoined me praise 
The race of blessed ones, that live for aye. 


"Philothea to Philemon, greeting: 

The body of Anaxagoras has gone to the Place of 
Sleep. If it were not so, his hand would have 
written in reply to thy kind epistle. I was with 
him when he died, but knew not the hour he depart- 
ed, for he sunk to rest like an infant. 

We lived in peaceful poverty in Ionia ; sometimes 
straitened for the means whereby this poor exist- 
ence is preserved, but ever cheerful in spirit. 

I drank daily from the ivory cup thou didst leave 
for me, with thy farewell to Athens ; and the last 
lines traced by my grandfather's hand still remain on 
the tablet thou didst give him. They are preserved 
for thee,' to be sent into Persia, if thou dost not return 
to Greece, as I hope thou wilt. 

I am now the wife of Paralus ; and Pericles has 
brought us into the neighbourhood of Olyrnpia, seek- 
ing medical aid for my husband, not yet recovered 
from the effects of the plague. Pure and blameless, 
Paralus has ever been — with a mind richly endowed 
by the gods; and all this thou well knowest. Yet 
he is as one that dies while he lives; though not al- 
together as one unbeloved by divine beings. Wonder- 
ful are the accounts he brings of that far-off world, 
where his spirit wanders. Sometimes I listen with 


fear, till all philosophy seems dim, and I shrink from 
the mystery of our being. When they do not disturb 
him with earthly medicines, he is quiet and happy- 
Waking, he speaks of things clothed in heavenly 
splendour; and in his sleep, he smiles like a child 
whose dreams are pleasant. I think this blessing 
comes from the Divine, by reason of the innocence of 
his life. 

We abide at the house of Proclus, a kind, truth- 
telling man, whose wife, Melissa, is at once diligent 
and quiet — a rare combination of goodly virtues. 
These worthy people have been guardians of Eudora, 
since the death of Phidias ; and with much affection, 
they speak of her gentleness, patience, and modest 
retirement. Melissa told me Aspasia had urgently 
invited her to Athens, but she refused, without even 
asking the advice of her guardian. Thou knowest 
her great gifts would have been worshipped by the 
Athenians, and that Eudora herself could not be ig- 
norant of this. 

Sometimes a stream is polluted in the fountain, 
and its waters are tainted through all its wanderings ; 
and sometimes the traveller throws into a pure rivulet 
some unclean thing, which floats awhile, and is then 
rejected from its bosom. Eudora is the pure rivulet. 
A foreign stain floated on the surface, but never 
mingled with its waters. 

Phidias wished her to marry his nephew; and Pan- 
dsenus would fain have persuaded her to consent ; 
but they forebore to urge it, when they saw it gave 
her pain. She is deeply thankful to her benefactor 
for allowing her a degree of freedom so seldom grant- 
ed to Grecian maidens. 


The Elians, proud of their magnificent statue of 
Olympian Zeus, have paid extraordinary honours to 
the memory of the great sculptor, and provided amply 
for every member of his household. Eudora is in- 
dustrious from choice, and gives liberally to the poor; 
particularly to orphans, who, like herself, have been 
brought into bondage by the violence of wicked men, 
or the chances of war. For some time past, she has 
felt all alone in the world ; — a condition that marvel- 
lously helps to bring us into meekness and tenderness 
of spirit. When she read what thou didst write of 
her in thy epistle, she fell upon my neck and wept. 

I return to thee the four minse. He to whose ne- 
cessities thou wouldst have kindly administered, hath 
gone where gold and silver avail not. Many 
believe that they who die sleep forever; but this 
they could not, if they had listened to words I have 
heard from Paralus. 

Son of Cheerilaus, farewell. May blessings be 
around thee, wheresoever thou goest, and no evil 
shadow cross thy threshold. 

Written in Elis, this thirteenth day of the increas- 
ing moon, in the month Hecatombseon, and the close 
of the eighty-seventh Olympiad." 

Without naming her intention to Eudora, Philothea 
laid aside the scroll she had prepared, resolved to 
place it in the hands of Pericles, to be entrusted to 
the care of some Persian present at the games, which 
were to commence on the morrow. 

Before the hour of noon, Hylax gave notice of ap- 
proaching strangers, who proved to be Pericles and 
Plato, attended by Tithonus. The young wife re- 
ceived them courteously, though a sudden sensation 


of dread ran through her veins with icy coldness. It 
was agreed that none but herself, Pericles, and Plato, 
should be present with Tithonus; and that profound 
silence should be observed. Preparation was made 
by offering solemn sacrifices to Phoebus, Hermes, 
Hecate, and Persephone; and Philothea inwardly 
prayed to that Divine Principle, revealed to her only 
by the monitions of his spirit in the stillness of her 

Tithonus stood behind the invalid, and remained 
perfectly quiet for many minutes. He then gently 
touched the back part of his head with a small wand, 
and leaning over him, whispered in his ear. An un- 
pleasant change immediately passed over the counte- 
nance of Paralus ; he endeavoured to place his hand 
on his head, and a cold shivering seized him. Philo- 
thea shuddered, and Pericles grew pale, as they 
watched these symptoms; but the silence remained 
unbroken. A second and a third time the Ethiopian 
touched him with his wand, and spoke in whispers. 
The expression of pain deepened; insomuch that his 
friends could not look upon him without anguish of 
heart. Finally his limbs straightened, and became 
perfectly rigid and motionless. 

Tithonus, perceiving the terror he had excited, said 
soothingly, "Oh, Athenians, be not afraid. I have 
never seen the soul withdrawn without a struggle 
with the body. Believe me, it will return. The 
words I whispered, were those I once heard from the 
lips of Plato: 'The human soul is guided by two 
horses ; one white, with a flowing mane, earnest eyes, 
and wings like a swan, whereby he seeks to fly; but 


the other is black ; heavy and sleepy-eyed — ever 
prone to lie down upon the earth.' 

"The second time, I whispered, 'Lo, the soul seek- 
eth to ascend!' And the third time I said, ' Behold 
the winged separates from that which hath no wings.' 
When life returns, Paralus will have remembrance 
of these words." 

" Oh, restore him ! Restore him !" exclaimed Phi- 
lothea, in tones of agonized entreaty. 

Tithonus answered with respectful tenderness, and 
again stood in profound silence several minutes, be- 
fore he raised the wand. At the first touch, a feeble 
shivering gave indication of returning life. As it 
was repeated a second and a third time, with a brief 
interval between each movement, the countenance 
of the sufferer grew more dark and troubled, until it 
became fearful to look upon. But the heavy shadow 
gradually passed away, and a dreamy smile return- 
ed, like a gleam of sunshine after storms. The mo- 
ment Philothea perceived an expression familiar to 
her heart/ she knelt by the couch, seized the hand of 
Paralus, and bathed it with her tears. 

When the first gush of emotion had subsided, she 
said, in a soft, low voice, "Where have you been, 
dear Paralus ?' The invalid answered: "A thick 
vapour enveloped me, as with a dark cloud ; and a 
stunning noise pained my head with its violence. A 
voice said to me, ' The human soul is guided by two 
horses; one white, with a flowing mane, earnest 
eyes, and wings like a swan, whereby he seeks to 
fly ; but the other is black, heavy, and sleepy-eyed — 
ever prone to lie down upon the earth.' Then the 
darkness began to clear away. But there was strange 


confusion. All things seemed rapidly to interchange 
their colours and their forms — the sound of a storm 
was in mine ears — the elements and the stars seemed 
to crowd upon me — and my breath was taken away. 
Then I heard a voice, saying, l Lo, the soul seeketh 
to ascend !' And I looked and saw the chariot and 
horses, of which the voice had spoken. The beauti- 
ful white horse gazed upward, and tossed his mane, 
and spread his wings impatiently; but the black 
horse slept upon the ground. The voice again said, 
1 Behold the winged separates from that which hath 
no wings !' And suddenly the chariot ascended, and 
I saw the white horse on light fleecy clouds, in a far 
blue sky. Then I heard a pleasing, silent sound — 
as if dew-drops made music as they fell. I breathed 
freely, and my form seemed to expand itself with 
buoyant life. All at once, I was floating in the air, 
above a quiet lake, where reposed seven beautiful 
islands, full of the sound of harps; and Philothea 
slept at my side, with a garland on her head. I 
asked, 'Is this the divine home, whence I departed 
into the body V And a voice above my head an- 
swered ' It is the divine home. Man never leaves it. 
He ceases to perceive.' Afterward, I looked down- 
ward, and saw my dead body lying on a couch. 
Then again there came strange confusion — and a 
painful clashing of sounds — and all things rushing 
together. But Philothea took my hand, and spoke 
to me in gentle tones, and the discord ceased." 

Plato had listened with intense interest. He stood 
apart with Tithonus, and they spoke together in low 
tones, for several minutes before they left the apart- 
ment. The philosopher was too deeply impressed to 


return to the festivities of Olympia. He hired an 
apartment at the dwelling of a poor shepherd, and 
during the following day remained in complete se- 
clusion, without partaking of food. 

While Paralus revealed his vision, his father's soul 
was filled with reverence and fear, and he breathed 
with a continual consciousness of supernatural pres- 
ence. When his feelings became somewhat com- 
posed, he leaned over the couch, and spoke a few af- 
fectionate words to his son ; but the invalid turned 
away his head, as if disturbed by the presence of a 
stranger. The spirit of the strong man was moved, 
and he trembled like a leaf shaken by the wind. 
Unable to endure this disappointment of his excited 
hopes, he turned away hastily, and sought to conceal 
his grief in solitude. 

During the whole of the ensuing day, Paralus 
continued in a deep sleep. This was followed by 
silent cheerfulness, which, flowing as it did from a 
hidden source, had something solemn and impress- 
ive in its character. It was sad, yet pleasant, to see 
his look of utter desolation whenever he lost sight 
of Philothea ; and the sudden gleam of joy that 
illumined his whole face the moment she re-appeared. 

The young wife sat by his side, hour after hour, 
with patient love ; often cheering him with her soft, 
rich voice, or playing upon the lyre he had fashioned 
for her in happier days. She found a sweet reward 
in the assurance given by all his friends, that her 
presence had a healing power they had elsewhere 
sought in vain. She endeavoured to pour balm into 
the wounded heart of Pericles, and could she have 
seen him willing to wait the event with perfect re- 


signation, her contentment would have been not un- 
mingled with joy. 

She wept in secret when she heard him express a 
wish to have Paralus carried to the games, to try the 
effect of a sudden excitement ; for there seemed to 
her something of cruelty in thus disturbing the tran- 
quillity of one so gentle and so helpless. But the 
idea had been suggested by a learned physician of 
Chios, and Pericles seemed reluctant to return to 
Athens without trying this experiment also. Philo- 
thea found it more difficult to consent to the required 
sacrifice, because the laws of the country made it 
impossible to accompany her beloved husband to 
Olympia ; but she suppressed her feelings ; and the 
painfulness of the struggle was never fully confessed, 
even to Eudora. 

While the invalid slept, he was carefully conveyed 
in a litter, and placed in the vicinity of the Hippo- 
drome. He awoke in the midst of a gorgeous spec- 
tacle. Long lines of splendid chariots were ranged 
on either side of the barrier; the horses proudly 
pawed the ground, and neighed impatiently ; the 
bright sun glanced on glittering armour ; and the 
shouts of the charioteers were heard high above the 
busy hum of that vast multitude. 

Paralus instantly closed his eyes, as if dazzled by 
the glare ; and an expression of painful bewilderment 
rested on his countenance. 

In the midst of the barrier stood an altar, on the 
top of which was a brazen eagle. When the lists 
were in readiness, the majestic bird arose and spread 
its wings, with a whirring noise, as a signal for the 
racers to begin. Then was heard the clattering of 


hoofs, and the rushing of wheels, as when armies 
meet in battle. A young Messenian was, for a time, 
foremost in the race; but his horse took fright at the 
altar of Taraxippus — his chariot was overthrown — 
and Alcibiades gained the prize. The vanquished 
youth uttered a loud and piercing shriek, as the 
horses passed over him ; and Paralus fell senseless in 
his father's arms. 

It was never known whether this effect was pro- 
duced by the presence of a multitude, by shrill and 
discordant sounds, or by returning recollection, too 
powerful for his enfeebled frame. He was tenderly 
carried from the crowd, and restoratives having been 
applied, in vain, the melancholy burden was slowly 
and carefully conveyed to her who so anxiously 
awaited his arrival. 

During his absence, Philothea had earnestly prayed 
for the preservation of a life so precious to her ; and 
as the time of return drew near, she walked in the 
fields, accompanied by Eudora and Milza, eager to 
catch the first glimpse of his father's chariot. 

She read sad tidings in the gloomy countenance of 
Pericles, before she beheld the lifeless form of her 

Cautiously and tenderly as the truth was revealed 
to her, she became dizzy and pale, with the sudden- 
ness of the shock. Pericles endeavoured to soothe 
her with all the sympathy of a parental love, mingled 
with deep feelings of contrition, that his restless anxi- 
ety had thus brought ruin into her paradise of peace: 
and Plato spoke gentle words of consolation ; remind- 
ing her that every soul, which philosophized sincerely 
and loved beautiful forms, was restored to the full 


vigour of its wings, and soared to the blest condition 
from which it fell. 

They laid Paralus upon a couch, with the belief 
that he slept to wake no more. But as Philothea 
bent over him, she perceived a faint pulsation of the 
heart. Her pale features were flushed with joy, as 
she exclaimed, "He lives! He will speak to me 
again ! Oh, I could die in peace,- if I might once 
more hear his voice, as I heard it in former years." 

She bathed his head with cool perfumed waters, 
and watched him with love that knew no weariness. 

Proclus and Telissa deemed he had fallen by the 
dart of Phoebus Apollo : and fearing the god was 
angry for some unknown cause, they suspended 
branches of rhamn and laurel on the doors, to keep 
off evil demons. 

For three days and three nights, Paralus remained 
in complete oblivion. On the morning of the fourth, 
a pleasant change was observed in his countenance; 
and he sometimes smiled so sweetly, and so rationally, 
that his friends still dared to hope his health. might 
be fully restored. 

At noon, he awoke ; and looking at his wife with 
an expression full of tenderness, said: "Dearest Phi- 
lothea, you are with me. I saw you no more, after 
the gate had closed. I believe it must have been a 
dream ; but it was very distinct." He glanced around 
the room, as if his recollections were confused; but 
his eyes no longer retained the fixed and awful 
expression of one who walked in his sleep. 

Speaking slowly and thoughtfully, he continued: 
"It could not be a dream. I was in the temple of 
the most ancient god. The roof was of heaven's 

P ii 1 L O T H E A . 209 

pure gold, which seemed to have a light within it, 
like the splendour of the sun. All around the temple 
were gardens full of bloom. I heard soft, mumuring 
sounds, like the cooing of doves ; and I saw the im- 
mortal Oreades and the Naiades pouring water from 
golden urns. Anaxagoras stood beside me ; and he 
said we were living in the age of innocence, when 
mortals could gaze on divine beings unveiled, and 
yet preserve their reason. They spoke another lan- 
guage than the Greeks ; but we had no need to learn 
it; we seemed to breathe it in the air. The Oreades 
had music written on scrolls, in all the colours of the 
rainbow. When I asked the meaning of this, they 
showed me a triangle. At the top was crimson, at 
the right hand blue, and at the left hand yellow. 
And they said, i Know ye not that all life is three- 
fold!' It was a dark saying; but I then thought I 
faintly comprehended what Pythagoras has written 
concerning the mysterious signification of One and 
Three. Many other things I saw and heard, but 
was forbidden to relate. The gate of the temple was 
an arch, supported by two figures with heavy drapery, 
eyes closed, and arms folded. They told me these 
were Sleep and Death. Over the gate was written 
in large letters, 'The Entrance of Mortals.' Beyond 
it, I saw you standing with outstretched arms, as if 
you sought to come to me, but could not. The air 
was filled with voices, that sung: 

Come! join thy kindred spirit, come! 

Hail to the mystic two in one! 

When Sleep hath passed, thy dreams remain — 

What he hath brought, Death brings again. 

Come hither, kindred spirits, come! 

Hail to the mystic two in one ! 


I tried to meet you; but as I passed through the 
gate, a cold air blew upon me, and all beyond was 
in the glimmering darkness of twilight. I would 
have returned, but the gate had closed; and I heard 
behind me the sound of harps and of voices, singing : 

Come hither, kindred spirits, come ! 
Hail to the mystic two in one!" 

Philothea kissed his hand, and her face beamed 
with joy. She had earnestly desired some promise 
of their future union; and now she felt the prayer 
was answered. 

"Could it be a dream?" said Paralus : " Methinks 
I hear the music now." 

Philothea smiled affectionately, as she replied : 
"When sleep hath passed, thy dreams remain." 

As she gazed upon him, she observed that the 
supernatural expression of his eyes had changed ; 
and that his countenence now wore its familiar, 
household smile. Still she feared to cherish the hope 
springing in her heart, until he looked toward the 
place where her attendant sat, motionless and silent, 
and said, " Milza, will you bring me the lyre?" 

The affectionate peasant looked earnestly at Phi- 
lothea, and wept as she placed it in his hand. 

Making an effort to rise, he seemed surprised at his 
own weakness. They gently raised him, bolstered 
him with pillows, and told him he had long been ill. 

"I have not known it," he replied. "It seems to 
me I have returned from a far country." 

He touched the lyre, and easily recalled the tune 
which he said he had learned in the Land of Dreams. 


It was a wild, unearthly strain, with sounds of solemn 
gladness, that deeply affected Philothea's soul. 

Pericles had not visited his son since his return to 
perfect consciousness. When he came, Paralus looked 
upon him with a smile of recognition, and said, "My 

Milza had been sent to call the heart-stricken parent, 
and prepare him for some favourable change; but 
when he heard those welcome words, he dropped 
suddenly upon his knees, buried his face in the dra- 
pery of the couch, and his whole frame shook with 

The invalid continued: "They tell me I have been 
very ill, dear father; but it appears to me that 1 have 
only travelled. I have seen Anaxagoras often — Plato 
sometimes-^and Philothea almost constantly; but 1 
have never seen yoU) since I thought you were dying 
of the plague at Athens." 

Pericles replied, "You have indeed been ill, my 
son. You are to me as the dead restored to life. 
But you must be quiet now, and seek repose." 

For some time after the interview with his father, 
Paralus remained very wakeful. His eyes sparkled, 
and a feverish flush was on his cheek. Philothea 
took her cithara, and played his favourite tunes. 
This seemed to tranquilize him; and as the music 
grew more slow and plaintive, he became drowsy, 
and at length sunk into a gentle slumber. 

After more than two hours of deep repose, he was 
awakened by the merry shouts of little Zoila, who 
had run out to meet Plato, as he came from Olympia. 
Philothea feared, lest the shrill noise had given him 



pain; but he smiled ; and said, M The voice of child- 
hood is pleasant." 

He expressed a wish to see his favourite philoso- 
pher ; and their kindred souls held long and sweet 
communion together. When Plato retired from the 
couch, he said to Philothea, " I have learned more 
from this dear wanderer, than philosophers or poets 
have ever written. I am confirmed in my belief that 
no impelling truth is ever learned in this world ; but 
that all is received directly from the Divine Ideal, 
flowing into the soul of man when his reason is obe- 
dient and still." 

A basket of grapes, tastefully ornamented with 
flowers, was presented to the invalid ; and in answer 
to his inquiries, he was informed that they were pre- 
pared by Eudora. He immediately desired that she 
might be called; and when she came, he received 
her with the most cordial affection. He alluded to 
past events with great clearness of memory, and 
asked his father several questions concerning the 
condition of Athens. When Philothea arranged his 
pillows and bathed his head, he pressed her hand af- 
fectionately, and said, "It almost seems as if you 
were my wife." 

Pericles, deeply affected, replied, " My dear son, 
she is your wife. She forgot all my pride, and con- 
sented to marry you, that she might become your 
nurse, when we all feared that you would be restored 
to us no more." 

Paralus looked up with a bright expression of 
gratitude, and said, " I thank you, father. This 
was very kind. Now you will be her father, when 
I am gone." 


Perceiving that Pericles and Eudora wept, he 
added : " Do not mourn because I am soon to de- 
part. Why would ye detain my soul in this world ? 
Its best pleasures are like the shallow gardens of 
Adonis, fresh and fair in the morning, and perishing 
at noon." 

He then repeated his last vision, and asked for the 
lyre, that they might hear the music he had learned 
from immortal voices. 

There was melancholy beauty in the sight of one 
so pale and thin, touching the lyre with an inspired 
countenance, and thus revealing to mortal ears the 
melodies of Heaven. 

One by one his friends withdrew ; being tenderly 
solicitous that he should not become exhausted by 
interviews prolonged beyond his strength. He was 
left alone with Philothea ; and many precious words 
were spoken, that sunk deep into her heart, never to 
be forgotten. 

But sleep departed from his eyes ; and it soon be- 
came evident that the soul, in returning to its union 
with the body, brought with it a consciousness of 
corporeal suffering. This became more and more 
intense; and though he uttered no complaint, he 
said to those who asked him, that bodily pain seemed 
at times too powerful for endurance. 

Pericles had for several days remained under the 
same roof, to watch the progress of recovery ; but at 
midnight, he was called to witness convulsive strug- 
gles, that indicated approaching death. 

During intervals of comparative ease, Paralus re- 
cognized his afflicted parent, and conjured him to 
think less of the fleeting honours of this world, 


which often eluded the grasp, and were always 
worthless in the possession. 

He held Philothea's hand continually, and often 
spoke to her in words of consolation. Immediately 
after an acute spasm of pain had subsided, he asked 
to be turned upon his right side, that he might see 
her face more distinctly. As she leaned over him, he 
smiled faintly, and imprinted a kiss upon her lips. 
He remained tranquil, with his eyes fixed upon hers; 
and a voice within impelled her to sing : 

Come hither, kindred spirits, come ! 
Hail to the mystic two in one ! 

He looked upward with a radiant expression, and 
feebly pressed her hand. Not long after, his eyelids 
closed, and sleep seemed to cover his features with 
her heavy veil. 

Suddenly his countenance shone with a strange 
and impressive beauty. The soul had departed to 
return to earth no more. 

In all his troubles, Pericles had never shed a tear; 
but now he rent the air with his groans, and sobbed, 
like a mother bereft of her child. 

Philothea, though deeply bowed down in spirit, 
was more composed : for she heard angelic voices 
singing : 

When sleep hath passed, thy dreams remain— 
What he hath brought, Death brings again. 
Come hither, kindred spirits, come ! 
Hail to the mystic two in one ! 



Thus a poor father, helpless and undone, 
Mourns o'er the ashes of an only son ; 
Takes a sad pleasure the last bones to burn, 
And pour in tears, ere yet they close the urn. 


Of the immense concourse collected together at 
Olympia, each one pursued his pleasure, or his inter- 
est, in the way best suited to his taste. Alcibiades* 
was proud of giving a feast corresponding in magnifi- 
cence to the chariots he had brought into the course. 
Crowds of parasites flattered him and the other 
victors, to receive invitations in return ; while a gener- 
ous few sympathized with the vanquished. Merchants 
were busy forming plans for profitable negociation, 
and statesmen were eagerly watching every symp- 
tom of jealousy between rival states and contending 


One, aniid that mass of human hearts, felt so little 

interest in all the world could offer, that she seemed 
already removed beyond its influence. Philothea 
had herself closed the eyes of her husband, and 
imprinted her last kiss upon his lips. Bathed in 
pure water, and perfumed with ointment, the lifeless 
form of Paralus lay wrapped in the robe he had been 
accustomed to wear. A wreath of parsley encircled 
his head, and flowers were strewn around him in 

In one hand was placed an obolus, to pay the fer- 
ryman that rowed him across the river of death; and 
in the other, a cake made of honey and flour, to 

216 PH1L0THEA. 

appease the triple-headed dog, which guarded the 
entrance to the world of souls. 

The bereaved wife sat by his side, and occasionally 
renewed the garlands, with a quiet and serene ex- 
pression, as if she still found happiness in being 
occupied for him who had given her his heart in the 
innocence and freshness of its childhood. 

The food prepared by Milza's active kindness was 
scarcely tasted; except when she observed the tears 
of her faithful attendant, and sought to soothe her 
feelings with characterestic tenderness. 

The event soon became universally known ; for 
the hair of the deceased, consecrated to Persephone, 
and a vase of water at the threshold, proclaimed 
tidings of death within the dwelling. 

Many of the assembled multitude chose to remain 
until the funeral solemnities were past; some from 
personal affection for Paralus, others from respect to 
the son of Pericles. 

Plato sent two large vases, filled with wine and 
honey; Eudora provided ointments and perfumes; 
Alcibiades presented a white cloak, richly embroid- 
ered with silver; and the young men of Athens, 
present at the games, gave a silver urn, on which 
were sculptured weeping genii, with their torches 
turned downward. 

Enveloped in his glittering mantle, and covered 
with flowers, the form of Paralus remained until the 
third day. The procession, which was to attend the 
body to the funeral pile, formed at morning twilight ; 
for such was the custom with regard to those who 
died in their youth. Philothea followed the bier, 
dressed in white, with a wreath of roses and myrtle 


around her head, and a garland about the waist. 
She chose this beautiful manner to express her joy 
that his pure spirit had passed into Elysium. 

At the door of the house, the nearest relatives 
addressed the inanimate form, so soon to be removed 
from the sight of mortals. In tones of anguish, almost 
amounting to despair, Pericles exclaimed: "Oh, my 
son ! my son ! Why didst thou leave us 1 Why wast 
thou, so richly gifted of the gods, to be taken from 
us in thy youth? Oh, my son, why was I left to 
mourn for thee?" 

Instead of the usual shrieks and lamentations of 
Grecian women, Philothea said, in sad, heart-moving 
accents: "Paralus, farewell ! Husband of my youth, 
beloved of my heart, farewell !" 

Then the dead was carried out ; and the procession 
moved forward, to the sound of many voices and 
many instruments, mingled in a loud and solemn 
dirge. The body of Paralus was reverently laid 
upon the funeral pile, with the garments he had been 
accustomed to wear- tiis^lyre and Phrygian flute; 
and vases filled with oil and perfumes. 

Plentiful libations of wine, honey, and milk were 
poured upon the ground, and the mourners smote 
the earth with their feet, while they uttered supplica- 
tions to Hermes, Hecate, and Pluto. Pericles applied 
the torch to the pile, first invoking the aid of Boreas 
and Zephyrus, that it might consume quickly. As 
the flames rose, the procession walked slowly three 
times around the pile, moving toward the left hand. 
The solemn dirge was resumed, and continued until 
the last flickering tongue of fire was extinguished 
with wine. Then those who had borne the silver 


urn in front of the hearse, approached. Pericles, 
with tender reverence, gathered the whitened bones, 
sprinkled them with wine and perfumes, placed them 
within the urn, and covered it with a purple pall, 
inwrought with gold; which Philothea's prophetic 
love had prepared for the occasion. 

The procession again moved forward, with torches 
turned downward; and the remains of Paralus were 
deposited in the Temple of Persephone, until his 
friends returned to Athens. 

In token of gratitude for kind attentions bestowed 
by the household of Proclns, Pericles invited his 
family to visit the far-famed wonders of the violet- 
crowned city; and the eager solicitations of young 
Pterilaus induced the father to accept, this invitation 
for himself and son. As an inhabitant of consecrated 
Elis, without wealth, and unknown to fame, it was 
deemed that he might return in safety, even after 
hostilities were renewed between the Pelopones- 
sian states. Eudora likewise obtained permission 
to accompany her friend ; and her sad farewell was 
cheered by an indefinite hope that future times would 
restore her to that quiet home. The virtuous Melissa 
parted from them with many blessings and tears. 
Zoila was in an agony of childish sorrow; but she 
wiped her eyes with the corner of her robe, and lis- 
tened, well pleased, to Eudora' s parting promise of 
sending her a flock of marble sheep, with a painted 
wooden shepherd. 

The women travelled together in a chariot, in 
front of which reposed the silver urn, covered with 
its purple pall. Thus sadly did Philothea return 
through the same scenes she had lately traversed 



with hopes, which, in the light of memory, now 
seemed like positive enjoyment. Pericles indeed 
treated her with truly parental tenderness; and no 
soothing attention, that respect or affection could 
suggest, was omitted by her friends. But he, of 
whose mysterious existence her own seemed a neces- 
sary portion, had gone to return no more ; and had 
it not been for the presence of Eudora, she would 
have felt that every bond of sympathy with this 
world of forms had ceased forever. 

At Corinth, the travellers again turned aside to 
the Fountain of Poseidon, that the curiosity of Pteri- 
laiis might be satisfied with a view of the statues by 
which it was surrounded. 

i: When we are in Athens, I will show you some- 
thing more beautiful than these," said Pericles. 
"You shall see the Pallas Athena?, carved by Phi- 

" Men say it is not so grand as the statue of Zeus, 
that we have at Olympia," replied the boy. 

" Had you rather witness the sports of the gymna- 
sia than the works of artists?" inquired Plato. 

The youth answered very promptly, "Ah, no in- 
deed. I would rather gain one prize from the Cho- 
ragus, than ten from the Gymnasiarch. Anniceris, 
the Cyrensean, proudly displayed his skill in chariot- 
driving, by riding several times around the Acade- 
mia, each time preserving the exact orbit of his 
wheels. The spectators applauded loudly: but 
Plato said, ' He who has bestowed such diligence to 
acquire trifling and useless things, must have neg- 
lected those that are truly admirable.' Of all sights 


in Athens, I most wish to see the philosophers ; and 
none so much as Plato." 

The company smiled, and the philosopher an- 
swered, "I am Plato." 

"You told us that your name was Aristocles," re- 
turned Pterilaiis; "and we always called you so. 
Once I heard that Athenian lady call you Plato ; and 
I could not understand why she did so." 

" 1 was named Aristocles for my grandfather," an- 
swered the philosopher; "and when I grew older, 
men called me Plato." 

"But you cannot be the Plato that I mean," said 
Pterilaiis; "for you carried my little sister Zoila on 
your shoulders — and played peep with her among 
the vines ; and when I chased you through the 
fields, you ran so fast that I could not catch you." 

The philosopher smiled, as he replied, "Neverthe- 
less, I am Plato ; and they call me by that name, 
because my shoulders are broad enough to carry 
little children." 

The boy still insisted that he alluded to another 
Plato. "I mean the philosopher, who teaches in 
the groves of Academus," continued he. " I knew a 
freedman of his, who said he never allowed himself 
to be angry, or to speak in a loud voice. He never 
but once raised his hand to strike him ; and that was 
because he had mischievously upset a poor old wo- 
man's basket of figs ; feeling that he was in a pas- 
sion, he suddenly checked himself, and stood perfect- 
ly still. A friend coming in asked him what he was 
doing; and the philosopher replied, 'I am punishing 
an angry man.' 

"Speusippus, his sister's son, was such a careless, 


indecent, and boisterous youth, that his parents could 
not control him. They sent him to his uncle Plato, 
who received him in a friendly manner, and forbore 
to reproach him. Only in his own example he was 
always modest and placid. This so excited the ad- 
miration of Speusippus, that a love of philosophy 
was kindled within him. Some of his relatives 
blamed Plato, because he did not chastise the imper- 
tinent youth ; but he replied, ' There is no reproof so 
severe as to show him, by the manner of my own 
life, the contrast between virtue and baseness.' — 
That is the Plato I want you to show me, when we 
are in Athens." 

Proclus, perceiving a universal smile, modestly 
added, by way of explanation : " My son means him 
whom men call the divine Plato. He greatly desires 
to see that philosopher, of whom it is said Socrates 
dreamed, when he first received him as his pupil. 
In his dream he saw a swan without wings, that 
came and sat upon his bosom : and soon after, its 
wings grew, and it flew high up in the air, with me- 
lodious notes, alluring all who heard it." 

Pericles laid his hand on the philosopher's shoulder, 
and smiling, answered, " My unbelieving friend, this 
is the teacher of Academus; this is the divine Plato ; 
this is the soaring swan, whose melodious notes allure 
all that hear him." 

Proclus was covered with confusion, but still seem- 
ed half incredulous. "What would Melissa say," 
exclaimed he, "if she knew that her frolicsome little 
plaything, Zoila, had been rude enough to throw 
flowers at the divine Plato." 

"Nay, my friend," replied the disciple of Socrates, 

222 PH1L0THEA. 

— what better could a philosopher desire, than to be 
pelted with roses by childhood?" 

Eudora looked up with an arch expression ; and 
Philothea smiled as she said, " This is a new version 
of unknown Phoebus tending the flocks of Admetus." 

Pterilaus seemed utterly confounded by a discov- 
ery so unexpected. It was long before he regained 
his usual freedom; and from time to time he was 
observed to fix a scrutinizing gaze on the counte- 
nance of Plato, as if seeking to read the mystery of 
his hidden greatness. 

As the travellers approached Athens, they were 
met by a numerous procession of magistrates, citi- 
zens, and young men bearing garlands, which they 
heaped on the urn in such profusion that it resembled 
a pyramid of flowers. They passed the chariots 
with their arms and ensigns of office all reversed ; 
then turned and followed to the abode of Pericles, 
singing dirges as they went, and filling the air with 
the melancholy music of the Mysian flute. 

The amiable character of the deceased, his genius, 
the peculiar circumstances attending his death, and 
the accumulated afflictions of his illustrious parent, 
all combined to render it an impressive scene. Even 
the gay selfishness of Alcibiades was subdued into 
reverence, as he carefully took the urn from the 
chariot, and gave it to attendants, who placed it 
beside the household altar. 

Early the next morning, a procession again formed 
to convey the ashes of Paralus to the sepulchre of 
his fathers ; called, in the beautiful language of the 
Greeks, a Place of Sleep. 

When the urn was again brought forth, Philothea' s 

P H I L T H E A. 223 

long golden hair covered it, like a mantle of sun- 
beams. During his life-time, these shining tresses 
had been peculiarly dear to him ; and in token of her 
love, she placed them on his grave. Her white robe 
was changed for coarse black garments ; and instead 
of flowery wreaths, a long black veil covered the 
beautiful head, from which its richest ornament had 
just been severed. She had rejoiced for his happy 
spirit, and now she mourned her own widowed lot. 

At the sepulchre, Pericles pronounced a funeral 
oration on the most gifted, and best-beloved of his 
children. In the evening, kindred and friends met 
at his house to partake a feast prepared for the occa- 
sion ; and every guest had something to relate con- 
cerning the genius and the virtues of him who slept. 

A similar feast was prepared in the apartments of 
the women, where Philothea remained silent and 
composed ; a circumstance that excited no small de- 
gree of wonder and remark, among those who meas- 
ured affection by the vehemence of grief. 

As soon as all ceremonies were completed, she ob- 
tained leave to return to her early home, endeared 
by many happy scenes; and there, in the stillness 
of her own heart, she held communion with the 
dear departed. 



There await me till I die ; prepare 
A mansion for me, as again with me 
To dwell; for in thy tomb will I be laid, 
In the same cedar, by thy side composed: 
For e'en in death I will not be disjoined. 


It soon became evident that a great change had 
taken place in Philothea's health. Some attributed 
it to the atmosphere of Athens, still infected with the 
plague ; others supposed it had its origin in the death 
of Paralus. The widowed one, far from cherishing 
her grief, made a strong effort to be cheerful; but 
her gentle smile, like moonlight in a painting, re- 
tained its sweetness when the life was gone. There 
was something in this perfect stillness of resignation 
more affecting than the utmost agony of sorrow. She 
complained of no illness, but grew thinner and thin- 
ner, like a cloud gradually floating away, and retain- 
ing its transparent beauty to the last. _ Eudora 
lavished the most affectionate attentions upon her 
friend, conscious that she was merely strewing flow- 
ers in her pathway to the tomb. 

A few weeks after their return to Athens, she said, 
" Dearest Eudora, do you remember the story of the 
nymph Erato, who implored the assistance of Areas, 
when the swelling torrent threatened to carry away 
the tree over which she presided, and on whose pre- 
servation her life depended?" 

"I remember it well," replied Eudora: " Dione 
told it to me when I was quite a child ; and I could 
never after see a tree torn by the lightning, or car- 


ried away by the flood, or felled by the woodman, 
without a shrinking and shivering feeling, lest some 
gentle, fair-haired Dryad had perished with it." 

Philothea answered, " Thus was I affected, when 
my grandfather first read to me Hesiod's account 
of the Muses : 

' Far round, the dusky earth 
Rings with their hymning voices ; and beneath 
Their many-rustling feet a pleasant sound 
Ariseth, as they take their onward way 
To their own father's presence.' 

" I never after could hear the quivering of summer 
leaves, or the busy hum of insects, without thinking 
it was the echoed voices of those 

' Thrice three sacred maids, whose minds are knit 
In harmony ; whose only thought is song.' 

" There is a deep and hidden reason why the heart 
loves to invest every hill, and stream, and tree, with 
a mysterious principle of life. All earthly forms 
are but the clothing of some divine ideal; and this 
truth we feel, though we know it not. But when I 
spoke of Arcus and the Wood Nymph, I was think- 
ing that Paralus had been the tree, on whose existence 
my own depended ; and that now he was removed, 
I should not long remain." 

Eudora burst into a passionate flood of tears. ' ' Oh, 
dearest Philothea, do not speak thus," she said. "I 
shall indeed be left alone in the world. Who will 
guide me, who will protect me, who will love me 
when you are gone?" 

Her friend endeavoured to calm these agitated 
feelings, by every soothing art her kindness could 


"I would rather suffer much in silence, than to 
give you unnecessary pain," she replied, affection- 
ately: "but I ought not to conceal from you that I 
am about to follow my beloved husband. In a short 
time, I shall not have sufficient strength to impart 
all I have to say. You will find my clothing and 
jewels done up in parcels, bearing the names of those 
for whom they are intended. My dowry returns to 
Chrysippus, who gave it; but Pericles has kindly 
given permission that everything else should be dis- 
posed of according to my own wishes. Several of my 
grandfather's manuscripts, and a copy of Herodotus, 
which I transcribed while I was in Ionia, are my 
farewell gifts to him. When the silver tripod, which 
Paralus gained as a prize for the best tragedy exhib- 
ited during the Dionysia, is returned to his father's 
house, let them be placed within it. The statue of 
Persephone, (that ominous bridal gift.) and the ivory 
lyre bestowed by Aspasia, are placed in his trust for 
the youthful Pericles ; together with all the books 
and garments that belonged to his departed brother. 
In token of gratitude for the parental care of Clinias 
and his wife, I have bestowed on them the rich tripod 
received from Heliodora. In addition to the trifling 
memorials I have already sent to Melissa, and her 
artless little Zoila, you will find others prepared for 
you to deliver, when restored to your peaceful home 
in Elis. To my faithful Milza I have given all the 
garments and household goods suited to her condition. 
My grandfather's books have been divided, as he re- 
quested, between Plato and Philsemon; the silver 
harp and the ivory tablet are likewise designed for 
them. Everything else belongs to you. dearest 


Eudora. Among many tokens of my affection, you 
will not value least the ivory cup lined with silver, 
which Philaemon gave me when he departed from 
Athens. The clasp, representing the Naiades bind- 
ing Eros in garlands, will, I trust, be worn at your 
marriage with Philaemon." 

With tearful eyes, Eudora answered, "Oh, Philo- 
thea ! in the days of my pride and gayety, I little 
knew what a treasure I threw from me, when I lost 
Philaemon's love. Had it not been for my own per- 
verse folly, I should at this moment be his happy, 
honoured wife. The hope of his forgiveness is now 
the only gleam of sunshine in a world of gloom ; but 
I hardly dare to cherish it." 

Philothea kissed her affectionately, and said, " Be- 
lieve me, you will yet be united. Of this, there is an 
impression on my mind too strong to admit of doubt. 
If at times you are tempted to despond, remember 
these words were uttered by your friend, when she 
drew near the confines of another world : you will 
be united to Philaemon." 

As she spoke, Milza, who was occupied in the 
next apartment, sneezed aloud. The sound was at 
Eudora's right hand, and she received the auspicious 
omen with a sudden thrill of joy. 

Philothea observed her emotion with a gentle 
smile, and added : " When we were at Elis, I wrote 
an epistle to Philaemon, in which I spoke of you as 
my heart dictated ; and Artaphernes found opportu- 
nity to send it directly into Persia." 

The maiden blushed deeply and painfully, as she 
replied, "Nay, my dearest friend — you know that I 
must appear contemptible in his eyes ; and I would 


not have insulted him with the offer of a heart, which 
he has reason to believe is so capricious and un- 

" Trust me, I said nothing whereby your modesty 
might be wounded," answered Philothea : "I wrote 
as I was moved ; and I felt strong assurance that my 
words would waken a response in Philsemon's heart. 
But there is one subject, on which my mind is filled 
with foreboding. I hope you will leave Athens as 
soon as it is safe to return to Elis." 

" Do you then fear that I would again dance over a 
pit, because it was artfully covered with garlands?" 
said Eudora. " Believe me, I have been tried with 
too many sorrows, and too long been bowed under a 
load of shame, to be again endangered by such 
treacherous snares." 

Philothea looked upon her affectionately, as she 
replied: " You are good and pure; but you have 
ever been like a loving and graceful vine, ready to 
cling to its nearest support." 

" ; Tis you have made me so," rejoined Eudora, 
kissing her pale cheek : " To you I have always ap- 
plied for advice and instruction; and when you gave 
it, I felt confident and happy, as if led by the gods." 

'-'• Then so much the more need that I should cau- 
tion the weakness I have produced," responded Phi- 
lothea. " Should Aspasia gain access to you, when 
1 am gone, she will try to convince you that happi- 
ness consists not in the duties we perform, but in the 
distinction we acquire; that my hopes of Elysium 
are all founded on fable ; that my beloved Paralus 
has returned to the elements of which he was com- 
posed ; that he nourishes the plants, and forms some 

philo'thea. 229 

of the innumerable particles of the atmosphere. I 
have seen him in my dreams, as distinctly, as I 
ever saw him ; and I believe the same power that 
enabled me to see him when these poor eyes were 
veiled in slumber, will restore him to my vision 
when they are closed in eternal sleep. Aspasia will 
tell you I have been a beautiful but idle dreamer all 
my life. If you listen to her syren tongue, the secret 
guiding voice will be heard no more. She will make 
evil appear good, and good evil, until your soul will 
walk in perpetual twilight, unable to perceive the 
real size and character of any object." 

'•'Never," exclaimed Eudora. u Never could she 
induce me to believe you an idle dreamer. More- 
over, she will never again have opportunity to exert 
influence over me. The conversation I heard be- 
tween her and Alcibiades is too well impressed upon 
my memory; and while that remains unforgotten, I 
shall shun them both, as I would shun a pestilence." 

Philothea answered : "1 do indeed believe that no 
blandishments will now make you a willing victim. 
But I have a secret dread of the character and power 
of Alcibiades. It is his boast that he never relin- 
quishes a pursuit. I have often heard Pericles speak 
of his childish obstinacy and perseverance. He was 
one day playing at dice with other boys, when a 
loaded wagon came near. In a commanding tone, 
he ordered the driver to stop ; and finding his injunc- 
tions disregarded, he laid down before the horses' 
feet, and told him to go on if he dared. The same 
character remains with him now. He will incur any 
hazard for the triumph of his own will. From his 
youth, he has been a popular idol ; a circumstance 


which has doubtless increased the requirements of 
his passions, without diminishing the stubbornness 
of his temper. Milza tells me he has already in- 
quired of her concerning your present residence and 
future intentions. Obstacles will only increase his 
eagerness and multiply his artifices. 

" I have asked Clinias, whose dwelling is so closely 
connected with our own, to supply the place of your 
distant guardian, while you remain in Athens. In 
Pericles you might likewise trust, if he were not so 
fatally under the influence of Aspasia. Men think 
so lightly of these matters, I sometimes fear they 
might both regard the persecutions of Alcibiades too 
trivial for their interference. For these reasons I 
wish you to return to Elis as soon as possible when 
I am gone." 

Eudora's countenance kindled with indignation, as 
she listened to what Milza had told. In broken and 
contrite tones, she answered; " Philothea, whatever 
trials I may suffer, my former folly deserves them all. 
But rest assured, whenever it pleases the gods to re- 
move your counsel and protection, I will not abide in 
Athens a single hour after it is possible to leave with 

" I find consolation in that assurance," replied Phi- 
lothea ; -'and I have strong belief that a divine shield 
will guard you from impending evil. And now I 
will go to my couch; for I am weary, and would 
fain be lulled with music." 

Eudora tenderly arranged the pillows, and played 
a succession of sweet and plaintive tunes, familiar to 
their childhood. Her friend listened with an express 
sion of tranquil pleasure, slowly keeping tiaie by the 

p h i l'o t h e a . 231 

motion of her fingers, until she sunk into a peaceful 

After long and sweet repose, she awoke suddenly, 
and looking up with a beaming glance, exclaimed, 
" I shall follow him soon !" 

Eudora leaned over the couch, to inquire why she 
had spoken in such delighted accents. 

Philothea answered: "I dreamed that I sat upon 
a bank of violets, with Paralus by my side ; and he 
wove a garland and placed it on my head. Sudden- 
ly, golden sounds seemed floating in the air, melting 
into each other with liquid melody. It was such a 
scene as Paralus often described, when his soul lived 
apart from the body, and only returned at intervals, 
to bring strange tidings of its wanderings. I turned 
to tell him so ; and I saw that we were both clothed 
in garments that shone like woven sunbeams. Then 
voices above us began to sing : 

• Come hither, kindred spirits, come ! 

Hail to the mystic two in one ! ' 

" Even after I awoke, I seemed to hear the chorus 
distinctly. It sounded like the voice of Paralus in 
his youth, when we used to sing together, to please 
my grandfather, as he sat by the side of that little 
sheltered brook, over whose bright waters the trees 
embrace each other in silent love.- Dearest Eudora, 
I shall soon follow him." 

The maiden turned away to conceal her tears; for 
resignation to this bereavement seemed too hard a 
lesson for her suffering heart. 

For several weeks, there was no apparent change 
in Philothea's health or spirits. The same sad se- 

232 P H 1 L T'H E A . 

renity remained — perpetually exciting the compas- 
sion it never seemed to ask. Each day the children 
of the neighbourhood brought their simple offering 
of flowers, with which she wove fresh garlands for 
the tomb of Paralns. When no longer able to visit 
the sepulchre herself, she intrusted them to the youth- 
ful Pericles, who reverently placed them on his 
brother's urn. 

The elder Pericles seemed to find peculiar solace 
in the conversation of his widowed daughter. Scarce- 
ly a day passed without an interview between them, 
and renewed indications of his affectionate solicitude. 

He came one day, attended by his son, on whom 
his desolated heart now bestowed a double portion 
of paternal love. They remained a long time, in 
earnest discourse ; and when they departed, the boy 
was in tears. 

Philothea, with feeble steps, followed them to the 
portico, and gazed after them, as long as she could 
see a fold of their garments. As she turned to lean 
on Eudora's arm, she said, " It is the last time I shall 
ever see them. It is the last. I have felt a sister's 
love for that dear boy. His heart is young anl in- 

For a few hours after, she continued to talk with 
unusual animation, and her eyes beamed with an 
expression of inspired earnestness. At her request, 
Geta and Milza were called ; and the faithful servants 
listened with mournful gratitude to her parting words 
of advice and consolation. 

At evening twilight, Eudora gave her a bunch of 
flowers, sent by the youthful Pericles. She took 
them with a srmle, and said, " How fragrant is their 

P H I L O T H E A. 233 

breath, and how beautiful their colours ! I have heard 
that the Persians write their music in colours; and 
Paralus spoke the same concerning music in the 
spirit- world. Perchance there was heavenly melody 
written on this fair earth in the age of innocence ; 
but mortals have now forgotten its language." Per- 
ceiving Eudora's thoughtful countenance, she said : 
"Is my gentle friend disturbed, lest infant nymphs 
closed their brief existence when these stems were 

"Nay;" replied Eudora: " My heart is sad; but 
not for the perished genii of the flowers." 

Philothea understood the import of her words ; and 
pressing her hand affectionately, said, " Your love 
has been as balm to my lonely heart ; and let that 
remembrance comfort you, when I go hence. Listen 
in stillness to the whispered warnings of your attend- 
ant spirit, and he will never leave you. I am weary ; 
and would fain repose on your affectionate bosom." 

Eudora gently placed her head as she desired ; and 
carefully' supporting the precious burden, she began 
to sing, in low and soothing tones. 

After some time, the quiet and regular respiration 
of the breath announced that the invalid had fallen 
into tranquil slumber. Milza came, to ask if the 
lamps were wanted; but receiving a silent signal 
from Eudora, she crept noiselessly away. 

For more than an hour, there was perfect stillness, 
as the shades of evening deepened. All at once, the 
room was filled with soft, clear light ! Eudora turned 
her head quickly, to discover whence it came; but 
could perceive no apparent cause for the sudden 


With an undefined feeling of awe, she looked in 
the countenance of her friend. It was motionless as 
marble ; but never had she seen anything so beauti- 
ful, and so unearthly. 

As she gazed, doubting whether this could indeed 
be death, there was a sound of music in the air — 
distinct, yet blended, like the warbling of birds in the 

It was the tune Paralus had learned from celestial 
harps ; and even after the last note floated away, 
Eudora seemed to hear the well-remembered words : 

Come hither, kindred spirit, come! 
Hail to the mystic two in one ' 



Take courage ! no vain dream hast thou beheld, 
But in thy sleep a truth. 


At the time of Philothea's death, Pandamus, the 
nephew of Phidias, was in Athens, intending soon to 
return to Eiis, in company with an ambassador bound 
to Lacedsemon; and Eudora resolved to avail her- 
self of this opportunity to follow the farewell advice 
of her friend. As the time for departure was near at 
hand, no change was made in household arrange- 
ments; and though the desolate maiden at times ex- 
perienced sensations of extreme loneliness, the near 
vicinity of Clinias and Phcenarete left her no fears 
concerning adequate protection. 

This confidence seemed well grounded; yet not 
many days after the funeral solemnities, Eudora 
suddenly disappeared. She had gone out, as usual, 
to gather flowers for the tomb of the beloved sleeper ; 
and not rinding sufficient variety in the garden, had 
wandered into a small field adjoining. Milza was 
the first to observe that her absence was unusually 
protracted. She mentioned her anxiety to Geta, 
who immediately went out in search of his young 
mistress ; but soon returned, saying she was neither 
in the house of Clinias, nor in the neighbouring 
fields, nor at the Fountain of Callirhoe. 

The faithful attendants at once suspected treach- 
ery in Alcibiades. " I never rightly understood what 
was the difficulty, when Eudora was locked up in 
her chamber, and Lucos chained to the door,''" said 


Geta; "but from what I could hear, I know that 
Phidias was very angry with Alcibiades. Many a 
time I've heard him say that he would always have 
his own way, either by a straight course or a crook- 
ed one." 

"And my good old master used to say he had 
changed but little since he was a boy, when he made 
the wagoner turn back, by lying down in front of his 
horses," rejoined Milza: "I thought of that, when 
Alcibiades came and drank at the Fountain, while I 
was filling my urn. You remember I told you that 
he just tasted of the water, for a pretence, and then 
began to inquire where Eudora was, and whether 
she would remain in Athens." 

After some further consultation, it was deemed 
best for Milza to request a private interview with 
Phoenarete, during which she freely expressed her 
fears. The wife of Clinias, though connected by 
marriage with the house of Alcibiades, was far from 
resenting the imputation, or pretending that she con- 
sidered it groundless. Her feelings were at once ex- 
cited for the lonely orphan girl, whose beauty, vi- 
vacity, and gentleness, had won upon her heart; 
and she readily promised assistance in any plan for 
her relief, provided it met the approbation of her 

There was in Salamis a large mansion built by 
Eurysaces, the ancestor of Alcibiades, by whom it 
had been lately purchased, and repaired for a sum- 
mer residence. Report said that many a fair maiden 
had been decoyed within its walls, and retained a 
prisoner. This place was guarded by several pow- 
erful dogs, and vigilant servants were always sta- 


tioned at the gates. Milza proposed to disguise her- 
self as much as possible, and, with a basket on her 
head, go thither to offer fish for sale. Geta, being 
afraid to accompany her, hired an honest boatman 
to convey her to the island, and wait till she was 
ready to return to Athens. 

As she approached the walls of the mansion, the 
dogs began to growl, but were soon silenced by the 
porters. Without answering the indecent jibes, with 
which they greeted her ears as she passed along, the 
little fish-woman balanced her basket on her head, 
and began carelessly to sing some snatches of a 
hymn to Amphi trite. It was a tune of which Eu- 
dora was particularly fond; and often when Milza 
was humming it over her work, her soft and sono- 
rous voice had been heard responding from the inner 

She had scarcely finished the first verse, ere the 
chorus was repeated by some one within the dwell- 
ing; and she recognized the half-suppressed growl 
of Hyla,x, as if his barking had been checked by 
some cautious hand. Afraid to attract attention by 
a prolonged stay, Milza passed along and entered the 
servants' apartment. Having sold a portion of her 
fish, and lingered as long as she dared in conversa- 
tion with the cooks, she returned slowly in the same 
direction, singing as she went, and carefully observ- 
ing everything around her. She was just beginning 
to fear the impossibility of obtaining any solution of 
her doubts, when she saw a leaf fluttering near the 
ground, as if its motions were impelled by some 
other cause than the wind. Approaching nearer, she 
perceived that it was let down from a grated open- 

238 PH1L0THEA. 

ing m the wall above, by a small thread, with a lit- 
tle ball of wax attached to it for a weight. She ex- 
amined the leaf, and discovered certain letters pricked 
upon it; and when the string was pulled gently, it 
immediately dropped upon her arm. At the same 
time, a voice, which she distinctly recognized as 
Eudora's, was heard singing : 

On a rock, amid the roaring water, 
Lies Cassiopea's gentle daughter. 

Milza had just begun to sing, "Bold Perseus 
comes," when she perceived a servant crossing the 
court, and deemed it prudent to retire in silence. 
She carefully preserved the leaf, and immediately 
after her return hastened to the apartment of Phaena- 
rete, to obtain an explanation. That matron, like 
most Grecian women, was ignorant of her own writ- 
ten language. The leaf was accordingly placed in a 
vessel of water, to preserve its freshness until Clinias 
returned from the Prytaneum. He easily distin- 
guished the name of Pandsenus joined with his own ; 
and having heard the particulars of the story, had no 
difficulty in understanding that Milza was directed 
to apply to them for assistance. He readily promised 
to intercede with his profligate kinsman, and imme- 
diately sent messengers in search of Pandsenus. 

Geta awaited intelligence with extreme impa- 
tience. He was grateful for many an act of kind- 
ness from Eudora: and he could not forget that she 
had been the cherished favourite of his beloved and 
generous master. 

At night, Clinias returned from a conference with 
Alcibiades, in which the latter denied all knowledge 
of Eudora: and it seemed hazardous to institute 

P H I L T II E A. 239 

legal inquiries into the conduct of a man so powerful 
and so popular, without further evidence than had 
yet been obtained. Pandsenus could not be found. 
At the house where he usually resided, no informa- 
tion could be obtained, except that he went out on 
the preceding evening, and had not returned as 

During that night, and part of the following day, 
the two faithful attendants remained in a state of 
melancholy indecision. At last, Geta said, "I will 
go once more in search of Pandsenus ; and if he has 
not yet returned, I have resolved what to do. To- 
day I saw one of the slaves of Artaphernes buying 
olives; and he said he must have the very best, 
because his master was to give a feast to-night. 
Among other guests, he spoke of Alcibiades ; and he 
is one that is always sure to stay late at his wine. 
While he is feasting, I will go to Salamis. His 
steAvard often bought anchovies of me at Phalerum. 
He is a countryman of mine ; and I know he is as 
avaricious as an Odomantian. I think money will 
bribe him to carry a message to Eudora, and to place 
a ladder near the outer wall for her escape. He is 
intrusted with all the keys, and can do it if he will. 
And if he can get gold enough by it, I believe he will 
trust Hermes to help him settle with his master, as 
he has done many a time before this. I will be in 
readiness at the Triton's Cove, and bring her back to 
Athens as fast as oars can fly." 

"Do so, dear Geta," replied Milza; "but disguise 
yours 3lf from the other servants, and take with you 
the robe and veil that I. wear to market. Then if 
Eudora could only walk a little more like a fish- 


woman, she might pass very well. But be sure you 
do not pay the steward till you have her at the boat's 
edge ; for he that will play false games with his 
master, may do the same by you." 

Necessary arrangements were speedily made. Geta 
resolved to offer the earnings of his whole life as a 
bribe, rather than intrust the secret of his bold expe- 
dition to any of the household of Clinias ; and Milza, 
fearful that their own store would not prove a suffi- 
cient temptation, brought forth a sum of money found 
in Eudora's apartment, together with a valuable 
necklace, which had been a birth-day present from 

It was past midnight when three figures emerged 
from the shadow of the high wall surrounding the 
mansion of Alcibiades, and with cautious haste pro- 
ceeded toward the cove. Before they could arrive 
at the beach, a large and gaily-trimmed boat was 
seen approaching the shore, from the direction of the 
Pirseus. It was flaming with torches; and a band 
of musicians poured out upon the undulating waters 
a rich flood of melody, rendered more distinct and 
soft by the liquid element over which it floated. One 
of the fugitives immediately turned, and disappeared 
within the walls they had left; the other two conceal- 
ed themselves in a thick grove, the darkness of which 
was deepened by the glare of torches along its bor- 
ders. A man richly dressed, with several fillets on 
his head, and crowned with a garland of violets, ivy, 
and myrtle, stepped from the boat, supported by the 
arm of a slave. His countenance was flushed with 
wine, and as he reeled along, he sung aloud : 


" Have I told you all my flames, 
'Mong the amorous Syrian dames? 
Have I numbered every one 
Glowing under Egypt's sun ? 
Or the nymphs, who, blushing- sweet, 
Deck the shrine of Love in Crete— 
Where the God, with festal play, 
Holds eternal holiday ?" 

u Castor and Polydeuces!" whispered Geta, " there 
goes Aleibiades. He has returned from his wine 
earlier than usual ; but so blinded by the merry god, 
that he would not have known us, if we had faced 
the glare of his torches." 

"Oh, hasten! hasten!" said Eudora, weeping and 
trembling, as she spoke. "I beseech you do not let 
a moment be lost." 

As Aleibiades and his train disappeared, they left 
the grove, and hurried toward their boat; keeping 
as much as possible within the shadow of the trees. 
They reached the cove in safety, and Geta rowed 
with unwonted energy; but he was single-handed, 
and Salamis was many stadia from Athens. Long 
before he arrived at the place were he had been accus- 
tomed to land, they heard the sound of distant oars 
plied with furious rapidity. 

They landed, and with the utmost haste proceeded 
toward the city. Eudora, fearful of being overtaken, 
implored Geta to seek refuge behind the pillars of 
Poseidon's temple. Carefully concealing themselves 
in the dense shadow, they remained without speak- 
ing, and almost without breathing, until their pursu- 
ers had passed by. The moment these were out of 
hearing, they quitted their hiding-place, and walked 
swiftly along the Piraeus. Intense fear imparted a 


degree of strength, which the maiden, under other 
circumstances, would have hardly deemed it possible 
to exert. She did not for a moment relax her speed, 
until they came within sight of the Areopagus, and 
heard noisy shouts, apparently not far distant. Eu- 
dora, sinking with fatigue and terror, entreated Geta 
not to attempt any approach to the house of Clinias, 
where her enemies would certainly be lying in wait 
for them. With uncertain steps they proceeded to- 
ward the great Gate of the Acropolis, until the 
helpless maiden, frightened at the approaching noise, 
stopped suddenly, and burst into a flood of tears. 

' : There is one place of safety, if you have courage 
to try it," said Geta: "We are nearly under the 
Propylsea ; and close beside us is the grotto of 
Creiisa. Few dare to enter it in the day-time, and 
no profane steps will venture to pass the threshold 
after nightfall ; for it is said the gods often visit it, 
and fill it with strange sights and sounds. Shall we 

It was a windy night, and the clouds that occa- 
sionally passed over the face of the moon gave the 
earth a dreary aspect. The high wall under which 
they stood seemed to frown gloomily upon them, and 
the long flight of white ma:/ble steps, leading from 
the Propylaea, looked cold and cheerless beneath the 
fitful gleamings of the moon. 

Eudora hesitated, and looked timidly around : but 
as the sound of riotous voices came nearer, she 
seized Geta's arm, and exclaimed, in hurried accents, 
" The gods protect me ! Let us enter.*' 

Within the grotto, all was total darkness. Having 
groped their way a short distance from the entrance. 


they found a large rock, on which they seated them- 
selves. The voices approached nearer, and their dis- 
cordant revelry had an awful sound amid the echoes 
of the grotto. These gradually died away in the 
distance, and were heard no more. 

When all was perfectly still, Eudora, in whispered 
accents, informed Geta that she had been seized, as 
she stooped to gather flowers within sight of her own 
dwelling. Two men suddenly started up from be- 
hind a wall, and one covered her mouth, while the 
other bound her hands. They made a signal to a 
third, who came with two attendants and a curtained 
chariot, in which she was immediately conveyed to a 
solitary place on the seashore, and thence to Salamis. 
Two men sat beside her, and held her fast, so as to 
prevent any possibility of communication with the 
few people passing at that early hour. 

Arrived at the place of destination, she was shut 
up in a large apartment, luxuriously furnished. Al- 
cibiades soon visited her, with an affectation of the 
most scrupulous respect, urging the plea of ardent 
love as an excuse for his proceedings. 

Aware that she was completely in his power, she 
concealed her indignation and contempt, and allowed 
him to indulge the hope that her affections might be 
obtained, if she were entirely convinced of his wish 
to atone for the treachery and violence with which 
she had been treated. 

Milza's voice had been recognized the moment she 
began to sing ; and she at once conjectured the object 
that led her thither. But when hour after hour 
passed without any tidings from Tandasnus or Clinias, 
ghe was in a state of anxiety bordering on distrac- 


tion ; for she soon perceived sufficient indication that 
the smooth hypocrisy of Alcibiades was assumed but 
for a short period. 

She had already determined on an effort to bribe 
the servants, when the steward came stealthily to 
her room, and offered to convey her to the Triton's 
Cove, provided she would promise to double the sum 
already offered, by Geta. To this she eagerly as- 
sented, without even inquiring the amount ; and he, 
fearful of detection, scarcely allowed time to throw 
Milza's robe and veil over her own. 

Having thus far effected her escape, Eudora was 
extremely anxious that Pandaenus and Clinias should 
be informed of her place of retreat, as soon as the 
morning dawned. When Geta told her that Pandae- 
nus had disappeared as suddenly as herself, and no 
one knew whither, she replied, " This, too, is the 
work of Alcibiades." 

Their whispered conversation was stopped by the 
barking of a dog, to which the echoes of the cavern 
gave a frightful appearance of nearness. Each in- 
stinctively touched the other's arm, as a signal for 
silence. When all was again quiet, Geta whispered, 
"It is well for us they were not witty enough to 
bring Hylax with them ; for the poor fellow would 
certainly have betrayed us." This circumstance 
warned them of the danger of listeners, and few more 
words were spoken. 

The maiden, completely exhausted by the exer- 
tions she had made, laid her head on the shoulder of 
her attendant, and slept until the morning twilight 
became perceptible through the crevices of the rocks. 

At the first approach of day, she implored Geta 


to hasten to the house of Clinias, and ask his protec- 
tion : for she feared to venture herself abroad, with- 
out the presence of some one whose rank and influ- 
ence would be respected by Alcibiades. 

u Before I go," replied Geta, " let me find a secure 
hiding-place for you; for though I shall soon return, 
in the meantime those may enter whose presence 
may be dangerous." 

" You forget that this is a sacred place," rejoined 
Eudora, in tones that betrayed fear struggling with 
her confidence. 

" There are men, with whom nothing is sacred," 
answered Geta ; "and many such are now in Athens." 

The cavern was deep, and wide. As they passed 
along, the dawning light indistinctly revealed statues 
of Phoebus and Pan, with altars of pure white marble. 
At the farthest extremity, stood a trophy of shields, 
helmets, and spears, placed there by Miltiades, in 
commemoration of his victory at Marathon. It was 
so formed as to be hollow in the centre, and Geta 
proposed that the timid maiden should creep in at 
the side, and stand upright. She did so, and it 
proved an effectual screen from head to foot. 

Having taken this prudent precaution, the faithful 
attendant departed, with a promise to return as soon 
as possible. But hour after hour elapsed, and he 
came not. As Eudora peeped through the chinks of 
the trophy, she perceived from the entrance of the 
cave glowing streaks of light, that indicated ap- 
proaching noon. Yet all remained still, save the 
echoed din of noises in the city ; and no one came to 
her relief. 

Not long after the sun had begun to decline from 


its meridian, two men entered, whom she recognized 
as among the individuals that had seized and con- 
veyed her to Salamis. As they looked carefully all 
around the cave, Eudora held her breath, and her 
heart throbbed violently. Perceiving no one, they 
knelt for a moment before the altars, and hastily re- 
treated, with indications of fear ; for the accusations 
of guilty minds were added to the usual terrors of 
this subterranean abode of the gods. 

The day was fading into twilight, when a feeble old 
man came, with a garland on his head, and invoked 
the blessing of Phoebus. He was accompanied by a 
boy, who laid his offering of flowers and fruit on the 
altar of Pan, with an expression of countenance that 
showed how much he was alarmed by the presence 
of that fear-inspiring deity. 

After they had withdrawn, no other footsteps ap- 
proached the sacred place. Anxiety of mind, and 
bodily weariness, more than once tempted Eudora to 
go out and mingle with the throng continually pass- 
ing through the city. But the idea that Geta might 
arrive, and be perplexed by her absence, combined 
with the fear of lurking spies, kept her motionless, 
until the obscurity of the grotto gave indication that 
the shadows of twilight were deepening. 

During the day, she had observed near the trophy 
a heap of withered laurel branches and wreaths, with 
which the altar and statue of Phoebus had been at 
various times adorned. Overcome with fatigue, and 
desirous to change a position, which from its unifor- 
mity had become extremely painful, she resolved to 
lie down upon the rugged rock, with the sacred gar- 
lands for a pillow. She shuddered to remember the 


lizards and other reptiles she had seen crawling, 
through the day ; but the universal fear of entering 
Creusa's grotto after nightfall, promised safety from 
human intrusion; and the desolate maiden laid her- 
self down to repose, in such a state of mind that she 
would have welcomed a poisonous reptile, if it 
brought the slumbers of death. It seemed to her 
that she was utterly solitary and friendless ; perse- 
cuted by men, and forsaken by the gods. 

By degrees, all sounds died away, save the melan- 
choly hooting of owls, mingled occasionally with the 
distant barking and howling of dogs. Alone, in still- 
ness and total darkness, memory revealed herself 
with wonderful power. The scenes of her childhood; 
the chamber in which she had slept ; figures she had 
embroidered and forgotten ; tunes that had been si- 
lent for years ; thoughts and feelings long buried; 
Philaemon's smile ; the serene countenance of Philo- 
thea; the deathbed of Phidias; and a thousand 
other images of the past, came before her with all 
the vividness of present reality. Exhausted in mind 
and body, she could not long endure this tide of re- 
collection. Covering her face with her hands, she 
sobbed convulsively, as she murmured, " Oh, Philo- 
thea ! why didst thou leave me? My guide, my only 
friend! oh, where art thou !" 

A gentle strain of music, scarcely audible, seemed 
to make reply. Eudora raised her head to listen — 
and lo ! the whole grotto was filled with light ; so 
brilliant that every feather in the arrow of Phoebus 
might be counted, and the gilded horns and star of 
Pan were radiant as the sun. 

Her first thought was that she had slept until noon. 


She rubbed her eyes, and glanced at the pedestal of 
a statue, on which she distinctly read the inscription : 
"Here Miltiades placed me, Pan, the goat-footed god 
of Arcadia, who warred with the Athenians against 
the Medes." 

Frightened at the possibility of having overslept 
herself, she started up, and was about to seek the 
shelter of the trophy, when Paralus and Philothea 
stood before her ! They were clothed in bright gar- 
ments, with garlands on their heads. His arm was 
about her waist, and hers rested on his shoulder. 
There was a holy beauty in their smile, from which 
a protecting influence seemed to emanate, that ban- 
ished mortal fear. 

In sweet, low tones, they both said, as if with one 
voice, "Seek Artaphernes, the Persian." 

" Dearest Philothea, I scarcely know his counte- 
nance," replied the maiden. 

Again the bright vision repeated, " Seek Artapher- 
nes, nothing doubting." 

The sounds ceased ; the light began to fade ; it 
grew more and more dim, till all was total darkness. 

For a long time, Eudora remained intensely wake- 
ful, but inspired with a new feeling of confidence 
and hope, that rendered her oblivious of all earthly 
cares. Whence it came, she neither knew nor asked ; 
for such states preclude all inquiry concerning their 
own nature and origin. 

After awhile, she fell into a tranquil slumber, in 
which she dreamed of torrents crossed in safety, and 
of rugged, thorny paths, that ended in blooming gar- 
dens. She was awakened by the sound of a troubled, 
timid voice, saying, "Eudora! Eudora!" 


She listened a moment, and answered, " Is it you, 

"Oh, blessed be the sound of your voice," replied 
the peasant. " Where are you? Let me take your 
hand; for I am afraid in this awful place." 

"Don't be frightened, my good Milza. I have 
had joyful visions here," rejoined the maiden. She 
reached out her arms as she spoke, and perceived 
that her companion trembled exceedingly. " May 
the gods protect us !" whispered she; " but it is a 
fearful thing to come here in the night-time. All the 
gold of Croesus would not have tempted me, if Geta 
had not charged me to do it, to save you from 

"You are indeed kind friends," said Eudora; "and 
the only ones I have left in this world. If ever I get 
safely back to Elis, you shall be to me as brother and 

"Ah, dear lady," replied the peasant, " you have 
ever been a good friend to us ; — and there is one that 
sleeps, who never spoke an ungentle word to any of 
us. When her strength was almost gone, she bade 
me love Eudora, even as I had loved her ; and the 
gods know that for her sake Milza would have died. 
Phoebus protect me, but this is an awful place to 
speak of those who sleep. It must be near the 
dawn ; but it is fearfully dark here. Where is your 
hand? I have brought some bread and figs, and 
this little arabyllus of water mixed with Lesbian 
wine. Eat; for you must be almost famished." 

Eudora took the refreshment, but ere she tasted it, 
inquired, "Why did not. Geta come, as he promised?" 

.Milza began to weep. 


"Has evil befallen him?" said Eudora, in tones 
of alarm. 

The afflicted wife sobbed out, " Poor Geta! Poor, 
dear Geta ! I dreaded to come into this cavern ; but 
then I thought if I died, it would be well, if we could 
but die together." 

"Do tell me what has happened," said Eudora: 
"Am I doomed to bring trouble upon all who love 
me? Tell me, I entreat you." 

Milza, weeping as she spoke, then proceeded to 
say that Alcibiades had discovered Eudora' s escape 
immediately after his return from the feast of Arta- 
phernes. He was in a perfect storm of passion, and 
threatened every »one of the servants with severe 
punishment, to extort confession. The steward re- 
ceived a few keen lashes, notwithstanding his protes- 
tations of innocence. But he threatened to appeal to 
the magistrates for another master ; and Alcibiades, 
unwilling to lose the services of this bold and artful 
slave, restrained his anger, even when it was at its 
greatest height. 

To appease his master's displeasure, the treacher- 
ous fellow acknowledged that Geta had been seen 
near the walls, and that his boat had been lying at 
the Triton's Cove. 

In consequence of this information, men were in- 
stantly ordered in pursuit, with orders to lie in wait 
for the fugitives, if they could not be overtaken before 
morning. When Geta left Creiisa's Grotto, he was 
seized before he reached the house of Clinias. 

Milza knew nothing of these proceedings, but had 
remained anxiously waiting till the day was half 
spent. Then she learned that Alcibiades had claimed 


Eudora and Geta as his slaves, by virtue of a debt due 
to him from Phidias, for a large quantity of ivory; 
and notwithstanding the efforts of Clinias in their 
favour, the Court of Forty Four, in the borough of 
Alcibiades, decided that he had a right to retain 
them, until the debt was paid, or until the heir ap- 
peared to show cause why it should not be paid. 

" The gods have blessed Clinias with abundant 
wealth," said Eudora; " Did he offer nothing to 
save the innocent?" 

u Dear lady," replied Milza, " Alcibiades demands 
such an immense sum for the ivory, that he says he 
might as well undertake to build the wall of Hippar- 
chus, as to pay it. But I have not told you the 
most cruel part of the story. Ceta has been tied to 
a ladder, and shockingly whipped, to make him tell 
where you were concealed. He said he would not 
do it, if he died. I believe they had the will to kill 
him; but one of the young slaves, whose modesty 
Alcibiades had insulted, was resolved to make com- 
plaint to the magistrates, and demand another mas- 
ter. She helped Geta to escape : they have both 
taken refuge in the Temple of Theseus. Geta dared 
trust no one but me to carry a message to Clinias. 
I told him he supped with Pericles to-night ; and he 
would not suffer me to go there, lest Alcibiades 
should be among the guests." 

"I am glad he gave you that advice," said Eu- 
dora ; "for though Pericles might be willing to serve 
me, for Philothea's sake, I fear if he once learned 
the secret, it would soon be in Aspasia's keeping." 

" And that would be all the same as telling Alcibi- 
ades himself," rejoined Milza. " But I must tell you 

252" P H I L O T H E A . 

that I did not know of poor Geta r s sufferings until 
many hours after they happened. Since he went to 
Salamis in search of you, I have not seen him until 
late this evening. He is afraid to leave the altar, 
lest he should fall into the hands of his enemies ; and 
that is the reason he sent me to bring you food. He 
expects to be a slave again ; but having been abused 
by Alcibiades, he claims the privilege of the law to 
be transferred to another master." 

Eudora wept bitterly, to think she had no power 
to rescue her faithful attendant from a condition he 
dreaded worse than death. 

Milza endeavoured, in her own artless way, to 
soothe the distress her words had* excited. " In all 
Geta's troubles, he thinks more of you than he does 
of himself," said she. "He bade me convey you to 
the house of a wise woman from Thessalia, who 
lives near the Sacred Gate ; for he says she can tell 
us what it is best to do. She has learned of magi- 
cians in foreign lands. They say she can compound 
potions that will turn hatred into love ; and that the 
power of her enchantments is so great, she can draw 
the moon down from the sky." 

"Nevertheless, I shall not seek her counsel," re- 
plied the maiden; "for I have heard a better oracle." 

When she had given an account of the vision in 
the cave, the peasent asked, in a low and trembling 
voice, "Did it not make you afraid?" 

"Not in the least," answered Eudora ; " and there- 
fore I am doubtful whether it were a vision or a 
dream. I spoke to Philothea just as I used to do; 
without remembering that she had died. She left 
me more composed and happy than I have been for 


many days. Even if it were a vision, I do not mar- 
vel that the spirit of one so pure and peacful should 
be less terrific than the ghost of Medea or Clytem- 

"And the light shone all at once!" exclaimed 
Milza, eagerly. " Trust to it, dear lady — trust to it. 
A sudden brightness hath ever been a happy omen." 

Two baskets, filled with Copaic eels and ancho- 
vies, had been deposited near the mouth of the cavern ; 
and with the first blush of morning, the fugitives of- 
fered prayers to Phoebus and Pan, and went forth 
with the baskets on their heads, as if they sought the 
market. Eudora, in her haste, would have stepped 
across the springs that bubbled from the rocks ; but 
Milza held her back, saying, "Did you never hear 
that these brooks are Creiisa's tears 1 When the un- 
happy daughter of Erectheus left her infant in this 
cave to perish, she wept as she departed ; and Phoe- 
bus, her immortal lover, changed her tears to rills. 
For this reason, the water has ever been salt to 
the taste. , It is a bad omen to wet the foot in these 

Thus warned, Eudora turned aside, and took a 
more circuitous path. 

It happened, fortunately, that the residence of Ar- 
taphernes stood behind the temple of Asclepius, at a 
short distance from Creiisa's Grotto; and they felt 
assured that no one would think of searching for 
them within the dwelling of the Persian stranger. 
They arrived at the gate without question or hin- 
drance; but found it fastened. , To their anxious 
minds, the time they were obliged to wait seemed 
like an age; but at last the gate was opened, and 


they preferred a humble request to see Artaphernes. 
Eudora, being weary of her load, stooped to place 
the basket of fish on a bench, and her veil accident- 
ally dropped. The porter touched her under the 
chin, and said, with a rude laugh, " Do you suppose, 
my pretty dolphin, that Artaphernes bays his own 

Eudora's eyes flashed fire at this familiarity : but 
checking her natural impetuosity, she replied, " It 
was not concerning the fish that I wished to speak to 
your master. We have business of importance." 

The servant gave a significant glance, more insult- 
ing than his former freedom. ''Oh, yes, business of 
importance, no doubt," said he; "but do you sup- 
pose, my little Nereid, that the servant of the Great 
King is himself a vender of fish, that he should leave 
his couch at an hour so early as this?" 

Eudora slipped a ring from her finger, and putting 
it in his hand, said, in a confidential tone, "I am not 
a fishwoman. I am here in disguise. Go to your 
master, and conjure him, if he ever had a daughter 
that he loved, to hear the petition of an orphan, who 
is in great distress." 

The man's deportment immediately changed ; and 
as he walked away, he muttered to himself, " She 
don't look nor speak like one brought up at the 
gates ; that's certain." 

Eudora and Milza remained in the court for a long 
time, but with, far less impatience than they had 
waited at the gate. At length the servant returned, 
saying his master was now ready to see them. Eu- 
dora followed, in extreme agitation, with her veil 
folded closely about her-, and when they were ushr 


ered into the presence of Artaphernes, the embarrass- 
ment of her situation deprived her of the power of 
utterance. With much kindness of voice and man- 
ner, the venerable stranger said: " My servant told 
me that one of you was an orphan, and had some- 
what to ask of me." 

Eudora replied : " O Persian stranger, I am indeed 
a lonely orphan, in the power of mine enemies ; and 
I have been warned by a vision to come hither for 

Something in her words, or voice, seemed to excite 
surprise, mingled with deeper feelings ; and the old 
man's countenance grew more troubled, as she con- 
tinued : "Perhaps you may recollect a maiden that 
sung at Aspasia's house, to whom you afterwards 
sent a veil of shining texture?" 

"Ah, yes," he replied, with a deep sigh: "I do 
recollect it. They told me she was Eudora, the 
daughter of Phidias." 

"I am Eudora, the adopted daughter of Phidias," 
rejoined 'the maiden. " My benefactor is dead, and 
I am friendless." 

" Who were your parents ?" inquired the Persian. 

" I never knew them," she replied. " I was stolen 
from the Ionian coast by Greek pirates. I was a mere 
infant when Phidias bought me." 

In a voice almost suffocated with emotion, Arta- 
phernes asked, " Were you then named Eudora ?" 

The maiden's heart began to flutter with a new 
and strange hope, as she replied, ""No one knew my 
name. In my childish prattle, I called mvself Baby 

The old man started from his seat — his colour went 


and came — and every joint trembled. He seemed to 
make a strong effort to check some sudden impulse. 
After collecting himself for a moment^ he said, " Mai- 
den, you have the voice of one I dearly loved ; and 
it has stirred the deepest fountains of my heart. I 
pray you, let me see your countenance." 

As Eudora threw off the veil, her long glossy hair 
fell profusely over her neck and shoulders, and her 
beautiful face was flushed with eager expectation. 

The venerable Persian gazed at her for an instant, 
and then clasped her to his bosom. The tears fell 
fast, as he exclaimed, " Artaminta ! My daughter! 
My daughter ! Image of thy blessed mother ! I 
have sought for thee throughout the world, and at 
last I believed thee dead. My only child ! My 
long-lost, my precious one ! May the blessing of 
Oromasdes be upon thee." 



Whate'er thou givest, generous let it be. 


When it was rumoured that Artaphernes had ran- 
somed Eudora and Geta, by offering the entire sum 
demanded for the ivory, many a jest circulated in the 
agoras, at the expense of the old man who had given 
such an enormous price for a handsome slave ; but 
when it became known, that he had, in some won- 
derful and lr^sterious manner, discovered a long-lost 
daughter, the tide of public feeling was changed. 

Alcibiades at once remitted his claim, which in 
fact never had any foundation in justice ; he having 
accepted two statues in payment for the ivory, pre- 
vious to the death of Phidias. He likewise formally 
asked Eudora in marriage ; humbly apologizing for 
the outrage he had committed, and urging the vehe- 
mence of his love as an extenuation of ihe fault. 

Artaphernes had power to dispose of his daughter 
without even making any inquiry concerning the 
state of her affections ; but the circumstances of his 
past life induced him to forbear the exercise of his 

"My dear child," said he, "it was my own mis- 
fortune to suffer by an ill-assorted marriage. In 
early youth, my parents united me with Artaynta, a 
Persian lady, whose affections had been secretly be- 
stowed upon a near kinsman. Her parents knew of 
this fact, but mine were ignorant of it. It ended in 
wretchedness and disgrace. To avoid the awful 


consequences of guilt, she and her lover eloped to 
some distant land, where I never attempted to follow 

Some time after, the Great King was graciously 
pleased to appoint me Governor of the sea-coast in 
Asia Minor. I removed to Ephesus, where I saw 
and loved your blessed mother, the beautiful Anti- 
ope, daughter of Diophanes, priest of Zeus. I saw 
her accidentally at a fountain, and watched her 
unobserved, while she bathed the feet of her little 
sister. Though younger than myself, she recipro- 
cated the love she had inspired. Her father con- 
sented to our union ; and for a few years I enjoyed 
as great happiness as Oromasdes ever bestows on 
mortals. You were our only child; named Arta- 
minta, in remembrance of my mother. You were 
scarcely two years old, when you and your nurse 
suddenly disappeared. As several other women and 
children were lost at the same time, we supposed 
that you were stolen by pirates. All efforts to ascer- 
tain your fate proved utterly fruitless. As moon after 
moon passed away, bringing no tidings of our lost 
treasure, Antiope grew more and more hopeless. 
She was a gentle, tender-hearted being, that com- 
plained little and suffered much. At last, she died 

After remaining in silent thoughtfulness for a few 
moments, he added : "Of my two sons by Artaynta, 
one died in childhood ; the other was killed in battle, 
before I came to Athens. I had never ceased my 
exertions to discover you ; but after I became child- 
less, it was the cherished object of existence. Some 
information received from Phoenician sailors led to 


the conclusion that I owed my misfortune to Greek 
pirates ; and when the Great King informed me that 
he had need of services in Athens, I cherfully under- 
took the mission." 

" Having suffered severely in my own marriage, 
I would not willingly endanger your happiness by 
any unreasonable exercise of parental anthority. 
Alcibiades is handsome, rich, and of high rank. 
How do you regard his proposal of marriage?" 

The colour mounted high in Eudora's cheek, and 
she answered hastily, "As easily could I consent to 
be the wife of Tereus, after his brutal outrage on the 
helpless Philomela. I have nothing but contempt to 
bestow on the man who persecuted me when I was 
friendless, and natters me when I have wealthy 

Artaphernes replied, "I knew not how far you 
might consider violent love an excuse for base pro- 
ceedings; but I rejoice to see that you have pride 
becoming your noble birth. For another reason, it 
gives me- happiness to find you ill-disposed toward 
this match ; for duty will soon call me to Persia, and 
having just recovered you in a manner so miraculous, 
it would be a grievous sacrifice to relinquish you so 
soon. But am I so fortunate as to find you willing 
to return with me? Are there no strong ties that 
bind your heart to Athens?" 

Perceiving that Eudora blushed deeply, he added, 
in an inquiring tone, " Clinias told me to-day, that 
Phidias wished to unite you with that gifted artist, 
his nephew Pandgenus?" 

The maiden replied, -'I have many reasons to be 
grateful to Pandamu- : and it was painful to refuse 


compliance with the wishes of my benefactor ; but if 
Phidias had commanded me to obey him in this in- 
stance, my happiness would have been sacrificed. 
Of all countries in the world, there is none I so much 
wish to visit as Persia. Of that you may rest as- 
sured, my father." 

The old man looked upon her affectionately, and 
his eyes filled with tears, as he exclaimed, "Oromas- 
des be praised, that I am once more permitted to hear 
that welcome sound ! No music is so pleasant to 
my ears as that word — father. Zoroaster tells us 
that children are a bridge joining this earth to a 
heavenly paradise, filled with fresh springs and 
blooming gardens. Blessed indeed is the man who 
hears many gentle voices call him father ! But, my 
daughter, why is it that the commands of Phidias 
would have made you unhappy? Speak frankly, 
Artaminta ; lest hereafter there should be occasion to 
mourn that we misunderstood each other." 

Eudora then told all the particulars of her attach- 
ment to Phileemon, and her brief infatuation with 
regard to Alcibiades. Artaphernes evinced no dis- 
pleasure at the disclosure ; but spoke of Philaemon 
with great respect and affection. He dwelt earnestly 
upon the mischievous effects of such free customs as 
Aspasia sought to introduce, and warmly eulogized 
the strictness and complete seclusion of Persian edu- 
cation. When Eudora expressed fears that she 
might never be able to regain Philaemon' s love, he 
gazed on her beautiful countenance with fond admi- 
ration, and smiled incredulously as he turned away. 

The proposal of Alcibiades was civilly declined; 


the promised sum paid to his faithless steward, and 
the necklace, given by Phidias, redeemed. 

Hylax had been forcibly carried to Salamis with 
his young mistress, lest his sagacity should lead to 
a discovery of her prison. When Eudora escaped 
from the island, she had reluctantly left him in her 
apartment, in order to avoid the danger that might 
arise from any untimely noise; but as soon as her 
own safety was secured, her first thoughts were for 
the recovery of this favourite animal, the early gift 
of Philaemon. The little captive had pined and 
moaned continually, during their brief separation ; 
and when he returned, it seemed as if his boisterous 
joy could not sufficiently manifest itself in gambols 
and caresses. 

When Artaphernes was convinced that he had 
really found his long-lost child, the impulse of grati- 
tude led to very early inquiries for Pandsenus. The 
artist had not yet re-appeared ; and all Athens was 
filled with conjectures concerning his fate. Eudora 
still suspected that Alcibiades had secreted him, for 
the same reason that he had claimed Geta as a slave ; 
for it was sufficiently obvious that he had desired, 
as far as possible, to deprive her of all assistance and 

The event proved her suspicions well founded. 
On the fourth day after her escape from Salamis, 
Pandsenus came to congratulate Artaphernes, and 
half in anger, half in laughter, told the particu- 
lars of his story. He had been seized as he returned 
home at night, and had been forcibly conveyed to 
the mansion of Eurysaces, where he was kept a 
close prisoner, with the promise of being released 

262 PS1L0THEA. 

whenever he finished a picture, which Alcibiades 
had long desired to obtain. This was a representa- 
tion of Europa, just entering the ocean on the back 
of the beautiful bull, which she and her unsuspect- 
ing companions had crowned with garlands. 

At first, the artist resisted, and swore by Phoebus 
Apollo that he would not be thus forced into the 
service of any man ; but an unexpected circumstance 
changed his resolution. 

There was a long, airy gallery, in which he was 
allowed to take exercise any hour of the day. In 
some places, an open-work partition, richly and cu- 
riously wrought by the skilful hand of Callicrates, 
separated this gallery from the outer balustrade of 
the building. During his walks, Pandsenus often 
heard sounds of violent grief from the other side of 
the screen. Curiosity induced him to listen, and in- 
quire the cause. A sad, sweet voice answered, " I 
am Cleonica, daughter of a noble Spartan. Taken 
captive in war, and sold to Alcibiades, I weep for 
my dishonoured lot; for much I fear it will bring the 
gray hairs of my mother to an untimely grave." 

This interview led to another, and another; and 
though the mode of communication was imperfect, 
the artist was enabled to perceive that the captive 
maiden was a tall, queenly figure, with a rich pro- 
fusion of sumry hair, indicating a fair and fresh com- 
plexion. The result was a promise to paint the 
desired picture, provided he might have the Spartan 
slave as a recompense. 

Alcibiades, equally solicitous to obtain the paint- 
ing, and to prolong the seclusion of Pandssnus, and 
being then eager in another pursuit, readily consented 


to the terms proposed. After Eudora's sudden change 
of fortune, being somewhat ashamed of the publicity 
of his conduct, and desirous not to lose entirely 
the good opinion of Artaphernes, he gave the artist 
his liberty, simply requiring the fulfilment of his 

"And what are your intentions with regard to 
this fair captive V inquired the Persian, with a sig- 
nificant smile. 

With some degree of embarrassment, Pandsenus 
answered, " I came to ask your protection ; and that 
Eudora might for the present consider her as a sister, 
until I can restore her to her family." 

"It shall be so," replied Artaphernes; "but this 
is a very small part of the debt I owe the nephew of 
Phidias. Should you hereafter have a favour to ask 
of Cleonica's noble family, poverty shall be no ob- 
struction to your wishes. I have already taken 
measures to purchase for you a large estate in Elis, 
and to remit yearly revenues, which will I trust be 
equal to 'your wishes. I have another favour to ask, 
in addition to the many claims you already have 
upon me. Among the magnificent pictures that 
adorn the Poecile, I have not observed the sculptor 
of your gods. I pray you exert your utmost skill in 
a painting of Phidias crowned by the Muses ; that 
I may place it on those walls, a public monument of 
my gratitude to that illustrious man." 

"Of his statues and drawings I have purchased 
all that can be bought in Athens. The weeping 
Panthea, covering the body of Abradates with her 
mantle, is destined for my royal and munificent 
master. By the kindness of Pericles, I have obtained 



for myself the beautiful group, representing my pre- 
cious little Artaminta caressing the kid, in that grace- 
ful attitude which first attracted the attention of her 
benefactor. For the munificent Eleans, I have re- 
served the Graceful Three, which your countrymen 
have named the presiding deities over benevolent 
actions. All the other statues and drawings of your 
illustrious kinsman are at your disposal. Nay, do 
not thank me, young man. Mine is still the debt, 
and my heart will be ever grateful." 

The exertions of Clinias, although they proved 
unavailing, were % gratefully acknowledged by the 
present of a large silver bowl, on which the skilful 
artificer, Mys, had represented, with exquisite deli- 
cacy, the infant Dionysus watched by the nymphs 
of Naxos. 

In the midst of this generosity, the services of 
Geta and Milza were not forgotten. The bribe given 
to the steward was doubled in the payment, and an 
offer made to establish them in any part of Greece 
or Persia, where they wished to reside. 

A decided preference was given to Elis, as the 
only place where they could be secure from the 
ravages of war. A noble farm, in the neighbourhood 
of Proclus, was accordingly purchased for them, well 
stocked with herds and furnished with all agricul- 
tural and household conveniences. Geta, having 
thus become an owner of the soil, dropped the brief 
name by which he had been known in slavery, and 
assumed the more sonorous appellation of Philophi- 

Dione, old as she was, overcame her fear of perils 


by land and sea, and resolved to follow her young 
mistress into Persia. 

Before a new moon had begun its course, Pandsenns 
fulfilled his intention of returning to Olympia, in 
company with the Lacedaemonian ambassador and 
his train. Cleonica, attended by Geta and Milza, 
travelled under the same protection. Artaphernessent 
to Proclus four noble horses and a Bactrian camel, 
together with seven minss as a portion for Zoila. 
For Pterilaus, likewise, was a sum of money suffi- 
cient to maintain him ten years in Athens, that he 
might gratify his ardent desire to become the disciple 
of Plato. Eudora sent her little playmate a living 
peacock, which proved even more acceptable than 
her flock of marble sheep with their painted shepherd. 
To Melissa was sent a long affectionate epistle, with 
the dying bequest of Philothea, and many a valuable 
token of Eudora's gratitude. 

Although a brilliant future was opening before her, 
the maiden's heart was very sad, when she bade a 
last farewell to the honest and faithful attendants, 
who had been with her through so many changing 
scenes, and aided her in the hour of her utmost need. 

The next day after their departure was spent by 
the Persian in the worship of Mithras, and prayers to 
Oromasdes. Eudora, in remembrance of her vision, 
offered thanksgiving and sacrifice to Phoebus and 
Pan ; aud implored the deities of ocean to protect the 
Phoenician galley, in which they were about to depart 
from Athens. 

These ceremonies being performed, Artaphernes 
and his weeping daughter visited the studio of 
Myron, who, in compliance with their orders, had 

266 P H I L T H F. A . 

just finished the design of a beautiful monument to 
Paralus and Philothea, on which were represented 
two doves sleeping upon garlands. 

For the last time, Eudora poured oblations of milk 
and honey, and placed fragrant flowers, with ringlets 
of her hair, upon the sepulchre of her gentle friend ; 
then, with many tears, she bade a long farewell to 
scenes rendered sacred by the remembrance of their 
mutual love. 



Next arose 
A well-towered city, by seven golden gates 
Inclosed, that fitted to their lintels hung. 

Then burst forth 
Aloud the marriage song; and far and wide 
Long splendors flashed from many a quivering torch. 


When the galley arrived at the opulent city of 
Tyre, the noble Persian and his retinue joined a car- 
avan of Phoenician merchants bound to Ecbatana, 
honoured at that season of the year with the residence 
of the royal family. Eudora travelled in a cedar 
carriage drawn by camels. The latticed windows 
were richly gilded, and hung with crimson curtains, 
which her father ordered to be closed at the slightest 
indication of approaching travellers. Dione, with 
six more youthful attendants, accompanied her, and 
exerted all their powers to make the time pass pleas- 
antly y but all their stories of romantic love, of heroes 
mortal and immortal, combined with the charms of 
music, could not prevent her from feeling that the 
journey was exceedingly long and wearisome. 

She recollected how her lively spirit had sometimes 
rebelled against the restraints imposed on Grecian 
women, and sighed to think of all she had heard 
concerning the far more rigid customs of Persia. Ex- 
pressions of fatigue sometimes escaped her ; and her 
indulgent parent consented that she should ride in 
the chariot with him, enveloped in a long, thick 
veil, that descended to her feet, with two small open- 
ings of net-work for the eyes. 


As they passed through Persia, he pointed out to 
her the sacred groves, inhabited by the Magii: the 
entrance of the cave where Zoroaster penned his 
divine precepts ; and the mountain on whose summit 
he was wont to hold midnight communication with 
the heavenly bodies. 

Eudora remarked that she nowhere observed tem- 
ples or altars; objects to which her eye had always 
been accustomed, and which imparted such a sacred 
and peculiar beauty to Grecian scenery. 

Artaphernes replied, "It is because these things 
are contrary to the spirit of Persian theology. Zoro- 
aster taught us that the temple of Oromasdes was in- 
finite space — his altar, the air, the earth, and the 

When the travellers arrived within sight of Ecba- 
tana, the setting sun poured upon the noble city a 
flood of dazzling light. It was girdled by seven walls 
of seven different colours; one rising above the other, 
in all the hues of the rainbow. From the centre of 
the innermost, arose the light, graceful towers of the 
royal palace, glittering with gold. The city was 
surrounded by fertile, spacious plains, bounded on 
one side by Mount Orontes, and on the other by a 
stately forest, amid whose lofty trees might here and 
there be seen the magnificent villas of Persian nobles. 

Eudora' s heart beat violontly, when her father 
pointed to the residence of Megabyzus, and told her 
that the gilded balls on its pinnacles could be dis- 
covered from their own dwelling ; but maiden shame 
prevented her from inquiring whether Philaemon 
was still the instructor of his sons. 

The morning after his arrival, Artaphernes had a 


private audience with his royal master. This confer- 
ence lasted so long, that many of the courtiers sup- 
posed his mission in Greece related to matters of more 
political importance than the purchase of pictures and 
statues ; and this conjecture was afterward confirmed 
by the favours lavished upon him. 

It was soon known throughout the precincts of the 
court that the favourite noble had returned from 
Athens, bringing with him his long-lost daughter. 
The very next day, as Eudora walked round the ter- 
races of her father's princely mansion, she saw the 
royal carriages approach, followed by a long train 
of attendants, remarkable for age and ugliness, and 
preceded by an armed guard, calling aloud to all men 
to retire before their presence, on pain of death. In 
obedience to these commands, Artaphernes immedi- 
ately withdrew to his own apartment, closed the 
shutters, and there remained till the royal retinue 

The visiters consisted of Amestris, the mother of 
Artaxerxes ; Arsinoe of Damascus, his favourite mis- 
tress ; and Pary satis, his daughter; with their innu- 
merable slaves. They examined Eudora with more 
than childish curiosity ; pulled every article of her 
dress, to ascertain its colour and its texture ; teased 
to see all her jewels ; wanted to know the name of 
everything in Greek ; requested her to sing Greek 
songs ; were impatient to learn Ionian dances ; con- 
jured her to paint a black streak from the eyes to 
the ears ; and were particularly anxious to ascertain 
what cosmetic the Grecian ladies used to stain the 
tips of their fingers. 

When all these important matters were settled, by 


means of an interpreter, they began to discuss the 
merits of Grecian ladies ; and loudly expressed their 
horror at the idea of appearing before brothers un- 
veiled, and at the still grosser indelicacy of sometimes 
allowing the face to be seen by a betrothed lover. 
Then followed a repetition of all the gossip of the 
harem ; particularly, a fresh piece of scandal con- 
cerning Apollonides of Cos, and their royal kinswo- 
man, Amytis, the wife of Megabyzus. Eudora 
turned away to conceal her blushes ; for the indeli- 
cacy of their language was such as seldom met the 
ear of a Grecian maiden. 

The Queen mother was eloquent in praise of a 
young Lesbian girl, whom Artaphernes had bought 
to attend upon his daughter. This was equivalent 
to asking for the slave; and the captive herself 
evinced no unwillingness to join the royal house- 
hold ; it having been foretold by an oracle that she 
would one day be the mother of kings. Amestris 
accepted the beautiful Greek, with many thanks, 
casting a triumphant glance at Arsinoe and Parysa- 
tis, who lowered their brows, as if each had reasons 
of her own for being displeased with the arrange- 

The royal guests gave and received a variety of 
gifts ; consisting principally of jewels, embroidered 
mantles, veils, tufts of peacock feathers with ivory 
handles, parrots, and golden boxes filled with roseate 
powder for the fingers, and black paint for the eye- 
brows. At length they departed, and Eudora's at- 
tendants showered perfumes on them as they went. 

Eudora recalled to mind the pure and sublime dis- 
course she had so often enjoyed with Philothea, and 


sighed as she compared it with this specimen of in- 
tercourse with high-born Persian ladies. 

When the sun was setting, she again walked upon 
the terrace; and, forgetful of the customs of the 
country, threw back her veil, that she might enjoy 
more perfectly the beauty of the landscape. She 
stood thoughtfully gazing at the distant pinnacles, 
which marked the residence of Megabyzus, when the 
barking of Hylax attracted her attention, and look- 
ing into the garden, she perceived a richly dressed 
young man, with his eyes fixed earnestly upon her. 
She drew her veil hastily, and retired within the 
dwelling, indulging the secret hope that none of her 
attendants had witnessed an action, which Arta- 
phernes w^ould deem so imprudent. 

On the following morning commenced the cele- 
brated festival called, c The Salutation of Mithras;' 
during which, forty days were set apart for thanks- 
giving and sacrifice. The procession formed long 
before the rising of the sun. First appeared a long 
train of the most distinguished Magii from all parts 
of the empire, led by their chief in scarlet robes, car- 
rying the sacred fire upon a silver furnace. Next 
appeared an empty chariot consecrated to Oromasdes, 
decorated with garlands, and drawn by white steeds 
harnessed with gold. This was followed by a mag- 
nificent large horse, his forehead flaming with gems, 
in honour of Mithras. Then came the Band of Im- 
mortals, and the royal kindred, their Median vests 
blazing with embroidery and gold. Artaxerxes rode 
in an ivory chariot, richly inlaid with precious stones. 
He was followed by a long line of nobles, riding on 
camels splendidly caparisoned; and their countless 
23* " 

272 PH1L0THEA. 

attendants closed the train. This gorgeous retinue 
slowly ascended Mount Orontes. When they arrived 
upon its summit, the chief of the Magii assumed his 
tiara interwoven with myrtle, and hailed the first 
beams of the rising sun with sacrifice. Then each 
of the Magii in turns sung orisons to Oromasdes, by 
whose eternal power the radiant Mithras had been 
sent to gladden the earth, and preserve the principle 
of life. Finally, they all joined in one universal 
chorus, while king, princes, and nobles, prostrated 
themselves, and adored the Fountain of Light. 

At that solemn moment, a tiger leaped from an ad- 
joining thicket, and sprung toward the king. But 
ere the astonished courtiers had time to breathe, a 
javelin from some unknown hand passed through the 
ferocious animal, and laid him lifeless in the dust. 

Eudora had watched the procession from the 
house-top ; and at this moment she thought she per- 
ceived hurried and confused movements, of which 
her attendants could give no explanation. 

The splendid concourse returned toward the palace 
iu the same order that it had ascended the mountain. 
But next to the royal chariot there now appeared a 
young man on a noble steed, with a golden chain 
about his neck, and two heralds by his side, who 
ever and anon blew their trumpets, and proclaimed, 
"This is Philsemori of Athens, whom the king de- 
lighteth to honour?" 

Eudora understood the proclamation imperfectly ; 
but afar off, she recognized the person of her lover. 
As they passed the house, she saw Hylax running 
to and fro on the top of the wall, barking, and jump- 
ing, and wagging his tail, as if he too were conscious 


of the vicinity of some familiar friend. The dog 
evidently arrested Philgemon's attention ; for he ob- 
served him closely, and long continued to look back 
and watch his movements. 

A tide of sweet and bitter recollections oppressed 
the maiden's heart; a deadly paleness overspread 
her cheeks ; a suffocating feeling choked her voice ; 
and had it not been for a sudden gush of tears, she 
would have fallen. 

When her father returned, he informed her that 
the life of Artaxerxes had been saved by the prompt- 
itude and boldness of Philaemon, who happened to 
perceive the tiger sooner than any other person at 
the festival. He added, "I saw Philsemon after the 
rescue, but we had brief opportunity to discourse 
together. I think his secluded habits have prevented 
him from hearing that I found a daughter in Athens. 
He told me he intended soon to return to his native 
country, and promised to be my guest for a few days 
before he departed. Furthermore, my child, the 
Great King, in the fulness of his regal bounty, last 
night sent a messenger to demand you in marriage 
for his son Xerxes." 

He watched her countenance, as he spoke; but 
seemed doubtful how to understand the fluctuating 
colour. Still keeping his scrutinizing gaze fixed upon 
her, he continued, " Artaminta, this is an honour not 
to be lightly rejected ; to be princess of Persia now, 
and hereafter perhaps its queen." 

In some confusion, the maiden answered, " Perhaps 
the prince may not approve his father's choice." 

"No, Artaminta; the prince has chosen for him- 
self. He sent his sister to obtain a view of my 


newly discovered daughter; and he himself saw you, 
as you stood on the terrace unveiled." 

In an agitated voice, Eudora asked, "And must I 
be compelled to obey the commands of the king?" 

" Unless it should be his gracious pleasure to dis- 
pense with obedience," replied Artaphernes. "I and 
all my household are his servants. I pray Oromas- 
des that you may never have greater troubles than 
the fear of becoming a princess." 

"But you forget, my dear father, that Parysatis 
told me her brother Xerxes was effeminate and capri- 
cious, and had a new idol with every change of the 
moon. Some fairer face would soon find favour in 
his sight ; and I should perhaps be shut up with 
hundreds of forgotten favourites, in the old harem, 
among silly women and ugly slaves." 

Her father answered, in an excited tone, " Arta- 
minta, if you had been brought up with more be- 
coming seclusion, like those silly Persian women, 
you would perhaps have known, better than you 
now seem to do, that a woman's whole duty is sub- 

Eudora had never heard him speak so harshly. 
She perceived that his parental ambition was roused, 
and that her indifference to the royal proposal dis- 
pleased him. The tears fell fast, as she replied, 
" Dear father, I will obey you, even if you ask me 
to sacrifice my life, at the command of the king." 

Her tears touched the feelings of the kind old 
man. He embraced her affectionately, saying, " Do 
not weep, daughter of my beloved Antiope. It 
would indeed gratify my heart to see you Queen of 
Persia; but you shall not be made wretched, if my 

P H I L O T H E A . 275 

interest with the Great King can prevent it. All 
men praise his justice and moderation ; and he has 
pledged his royal word to grant anything I ask, in 
recompense for services rendered in Greece. The 
man who has just saved his life can no doubt obtain 
any favour. But reflect upon it well, my daughter. 
Xerxes has no son ; and should you give birth to a 
boy, no new favourite could exclude you from the 
throne. Perhaps Philsemon was silent from other 
causes than ignorance of your arrival in Persia ; and 
if this be the case, you may repent a too hasty 
rejection of princely love." 

Eudora blushed like crimson, and appeared deeply 
pained by this suggestion ; but she made no answer. 

Artaphernes departed, promising to seek a private 
audience with the king; and she saw him no more 
that night. When she laid her head upon the pil- 
low, a mind troubled with many anxious thoughts 
for a long time prevented repose ; and when she did 
sink to, sleep, it was with a confused medley of ideas, 
in which the remembrance of Philsemon's love was 
mixed up with floating visions of regal grandeur, and 
proud thoughts of a triumphant marriage, now . 
placed within her power, should he indeed prove as 
unforgiving and indifferent, as her father had sug- 

In her sleep, she saw Philothea; but a swift and 
turbid stream appeared to roll between them ; and 
her friend said, in melancholy tones, "You have 
left me, Eudora ; and I cannot come to you, now. 
Whence are these dark and restless waters, which 
separate our souls?" 

Then a variety of strange scenes rapidly succeeded 


eacli other — all cheerless, perturbed, and chaotic. 
At last, she seemed to be standing under the old 
grape-vine, that shaded the dwelling of Anaxagoras, 
and Philaemon crowned her with a wreath of myrtle. 

In the morning, soon after she had risen from her 
couch, Artaphernes came to her apartment, and mild- 
ly asked if she still wished to decline the royal alli- 
ance. He evinced no displeasure when she answered 
in the affirmative; but quietly replied, "It may be 
that you have chosen a wise part, my child ; for true 
it is, that safety and contentment rarely take up their 
abode with princes. But now go and adorn yourself 
with your richest apparel ; for the Great King re- 
quires me to present you at the palace, before the 
hour of noon. Let your Greek costume be laid aside ; 
for I would not have my daughter appear like a for- 
eigner, in the presence of her king." 

With a palpitating heart, Eudora resigned herself 
into the hands of her Persian tire- women, who so 
loaded her with embroidery and gems, that she could 
scarcely support their weight. 

She was conveyed to the palace in a cedar carriage, 
carefully screened from observation. Her father rode 
by her side, and a numerous train of attendants fol- 
lowed. Through gates of burnished brass, they en- 
tered a small court with a tesselated pavement of 
black and white marble. Thence they passed into a 
long apartment, with walls of black marble, and cor- 
nices heavily gilded. The marble was so highly 
polished, that Eudora saw the light of her jewels 
everywhere reflected like sunbeams. Surprised by 
the multiplied images of herself and attendants, she 
did not at first perceive, through the net- work of 


her veil, that a young man stood leaning against the 
wall, with his arms folded. This well-remembered 
attitude attracted her attention, and she scarcely 
needed a glance to assure her it was Phileemon. 

It being contrary to Persian etiquette to speak 
without license within hearing of the royal apart- 
ments, the Athenian merely smiled, and bowed grace- 
fully to Artaphemes ; but an audible sigh escaped 
him, as he glanced at the Greek attendants. Eudora 
hastily turned away her head, when he looked to- 
ward her ; but her heart throbbed so violently that 
every fold of her veil trembled. They continued 
thus in each other's presence many minutes; one in 
a state of perfect unconsciousness, the other suffering 
an intensity of feeling, that seemed like the con- 
densed excitement of years. At last a herald came 
to say it was now the pleasure of the Great King to 
receive them in the private court, opening into the 
royal gardens. 

The pavement of this court was of porphyry in- 
laid with costly marbles, in various hieroglyphics. 
The side connected with the palace was adorned 
with carved open-work, richly painted and gilded, 
and with jasper tablets, alternately surmounted by a 
golden ram and a winged lion ; one the royal ensign 
of Persia, the other emblematic of the Assyrian em- 
pire conquered by Cyrus. The throne was placed 
in the centre, under a canopy of crimson, yellow, and 
blue silk, tastefully intermingled and embroidered 
with silver and gold. Above this was an image of 
the sun, with rays so brilliant, that it dazzled the 
eyes of those who looked upon it. 

The monarch seemed scarcely beyond the middle 

278 P H I L O T H E A. 

age, with long flowing hair, and a countenance mild 
and dignified. On his right hand stood Xerxes — on 
his left, Darius and Sogdianus; and around him 
were a numerous band of younger sons ; all wearing 
white robes, with jewelled vests of Tyrian purple. 

As they entered, the active buzzing of female voices 
was heard behind the gilded open-work of the wall ; 
but this was speedily silenced by a signal from the 
herald. Artaphernes prostrated himself, till his fore- 
head touched the pavement; Eudora copied his ex- 
ample; but Phileemon merely bowed low, after the 
manner of the Athenians. Artaxerxes bade them 
arise, and said, in a stern tone, "Artaphernes, has 
thy daughter prepared herself to obey our royal man- 
date? Oris she still contemptuous of our kingly 

Eudora trembled ; and her father again prostrated 
himself, as he replied : " O great and benignant king! 
mayest thou live forever. May Oromasdes bless thee 
with a prosperous reign, and forever avert from thee 
the malignant influence of Arimanius. I and my 
household are among the least of thy servants. May 
the hand that offends thee be cut off, and cast to un- 
clean dogs." 

" Arise, Artaphernes ! " said the monarch. " Thy 
daughter has permission to speak." 

Eudora, awed by the despotic power and august 
presence of Artaxerxes, spoke to her father, in a low 
and tremulous voice, and reminded him of the royal 
promise to grant whatever he might ask. 

Philsemon turned eagerly, and a sudden flush man- 
tled his cheeks, when he heard the pure Attic dialect, 
11 with its lovely marriage of sweet sounds." 


"What does the maiden say?" inquired the king. 

Artaphernes again paid homage, and answered ; 
"O Light of the World! Look in mercy upon the 
daughter of thy servant, and grant that her petition 
may find favour in thy sight. As yet, she hath not 
gained a ready utterance of the Persian language- 
honoured and blessed above all languages, in being 
the messenger of thy thoughts, O king. Therefore 
she spoke in the Greek tongue, concerning thy gra- 
cious promise to grant unto the humblest of thy serv- 
ants whatsoever he might ask at thy hands." 

Then the monarch held forth his golden sceptre, 
and replied, "Be it unto thee, as I have said. I have 
sought thy daughter in marriage for Xerxes, prince 
of the empire. What other boon does Artaphernes 
ask of the king?" 

The Persian approached, and reverently touching 
the point of the sceptre, answered : "O King of kings ! 
before whom the nations of the earth do tremble. 
Thy bounty is like the overflowing Nilus, and thy 
mercy refreshing as dew upon the parched earth. If 
it be thy pleasure, O King, forgive Artaminta, my 
daughter, if she begs that the favour of the prince, 
like the blessed rays of Mithras, may fall upon some 
fairer damsel. I pray thee have her excused." 

Xerxes looked up with an angry frown ; but his 
royal father replied, " The word of the king is sacred ; 
and his decree changeth not. Be it unto thee even 
as thou wilt." 

Then turning to Philgemon, he said: "Athenian 
stranger, our royal life preserved by thy hand de- 
serves a kingly boon. Since our well beloved son 
cannot find favour in the eyes of this damsel, we 



bestow her upon thee. Her father is one of the 
illustrious Pasargadas ; and her ancestors were not 
unremotely connected with the princes of Media. 
We have never looked upon her countenance — 
deeming it wise to copy the prudent example of our 
cousin Cyrus ; but report describes her beautiful as 

Eudora shrunk from being thus bestowed upon 
Philsemon ; and she would have said this to her 
father, had he not checked the first half-uttered 
word by a private signal. 

With extreme confusion, the Athenian bowed low", 
and answered, "Pardon me, O King, and deem me 
not insensible of thy royal munificence. I pray thee 
bestow the daughter of the princely Artaphernes upon 
one more worthy than thy servant." 

" Now, by the memory of Cyrus!" exclaimed Arta- 
xerxes, u The king's favours shall this day be likened 
unto a beggar, whose petitions are rejected at every 

Then, turning to his courtiers, he added: "A 
proud nation are these Greeks ! When the plague 
ravaged all Persia and Media, Hippocrates of Cos re- 
fused our entreaties, and scorned our royal bounty ; 
saying he was born to serve his own countrymen, 
and not foreigners. Themistocles, on whom our 
mighty father bestowed the revenues of cities, died, 
rather than fight for him against Athens ; and lo ! 
here is a young Athenian, who refuses a maiden 
sought by the Persian prince, with a dowry richer 
than Pactolus. 

Philsemon bowed himself reverently, and replied : 
" Deem not, king, that I am moved by Grecian 


pride ; for well I know that I am all unworthy of 
this princely alliance. An epistle lately received 
from Olympia makes it necessary for me to return to 
Greece ; where, O king, I seek a beloved maiden, to 
whom I was betrothed before my exile." 

Eudora had trembled violently, and her convulsive 
breathing was audible, while Philssmon spoke ; but 
when he uttered the last words, forgetful of the rev- 
erence required of those who stood in the presence of 
majesty, she murmured, "Oh, Philothea!" and sunk 
into the arms of her father. 

The young man started ; for now, not only the 
language, but the tones were familiar to his heart. 
As the senseless form was carried into the garden, he 
gazed upon it with an excited and bewildered ex- 

Artaxerxes smiled, as he said: "Athenian stran- 
ger, the daughter of Artaphernes, lost on the coast of 
Ionia, was discovered in the household of Phidias, 
and the Greeks called her Eudora." 

Philsemon instantly knelt at the monarch's feet, 
and said, "Pardon me, O king. I was ignorant of 
all this. I " 

He would have explained more fully; but Arta- 
xerxes interrupted him; "We know it all, Athenian 
stranger — we know it all. You have refused Arta- 
minta, and now we bestow upon you Eudora, with 
the revenues of Magnesia and Lampsacus for her 

Before the next moon had waned, a magnificent 
marriage was celebrated in the court of audience, 
opening into the royal gardens. On a shining throne, 
in the midst of a stately pavilion, was seated Arta- 


xerxes, surrounded by the princes of the empire. 
Near the throne stood Philsemon and Eudora. Ar- 
taphernes placed the right hand of the bride within 
the right hand of the bridegroom, saying, " Philse- 
mon of Athens, I bestow upon thee, Artaminta, my 
daughter, with my estates in Pasagarda, and five 
thousand darics as her dowry." 

The chief of the Magii bore sacred fire on a silver 
censer, and the bridal couple passed slowly around 
it three times, bowing reverently to the sacred em- 
blem of Mithras. Then the bridegroom fastened a 
golden jewel about the bride's neck, and they repeat- 
ed certain words, promising fidelity to each other. 
The nuptial hymn was sung by six handsome youths, 
and as many maidens, clothed in white garments, 
with a purple edge. 

Numerous lamps were lighted in the trees, making 
the gardens bright as noon. Women belonging to 
the royal household, and to the most favoured of the 
nobility, rode through the groves and lawns, in rich 
pavilions, on the backs of camels and white ele- 
phants. As the huge animals were led along, fire- 
works burst from under their feet, and playing for a 
moment in the air, with undulating movements, fell 
in a sparkling shower. 

Artaxerxes gave a luxurious feast, which lasted 
seven days; during which time the Queen entertained 
her guests with equal splendour, in the apartments 
of the women. 

The Athenian decree against those of foreign 
parentage had been repealed in favour of young 
Pericles ; but in that country everything was in a 


troubled and unsettled state ; and Artaphernes plead- 
ed hard to have his daughter remain in Persia. 

It was therefore decided that the young couple 
should reside at Pasagarda, situated in a fertile val- 
ley, called the Q,ueeu's Girdle, because its revenues 
were appropriated to that costly article of the royal 
wardrobe. This pleasant city had once been the 
favourite residence of Cyrus the Great, and a plain 
obelisk in the royal gardens marked his burial-place. 
The adjacent promontory of Taoces afforded a con- 
venient harbour for Tyrian merchants, and thus 
brought in the luxuries of Phoenicia, while it afford- 
ed opportunities for literary communication between 
the East and the West. Here were celebrated 
schools under the direction of the Magii, frequently 
visited by learned men from Greece, Ethiopia, and 

Philaemon devoted himself to the quiet pursuits of 
literature; and Eudora, happy in her father, hus- 
band and children, thankfully acknowledged the 
blessings of her lot. 

Her only daughter, a gentle maiden, with plaint- 
ive voice and earnest eyes, bore the beloved name of 



Zeus — The Jupiter of the Romans. 

Zeus Xenius — Jupiter the Hospitable. 

Hera — Juno. 

Pallas — Minerva. 

Pallas Athena' — An ancient appellation of Minerva, from which Athena 
took its name. 

Pallas Parthenia — Pallas the Virgin. 

Pallas Promachos — Pallas the Defender. 

Ph&bus — The Apollo of the Romans ; the Sun. 
. Phosbus Apollo — Phoebus the Destroyer, or the Purifier. 

Phabe — Diana; the Moon. 

Artemis — Diana. 

Agrotera — Diana the Huntress. 

Orthia — Name of Diana among the Spartans. 

Poseidon — Ne ptune. 

Aphro dite — Venus . 

Urania — The Heavenly Venus. The same name was applied to the 
Muse of Astronomy. 

Eros — Cupid. 

Hermes — Mercury. 

Demeter — Ceres. 

Persephone — Proserpine. 

Dionysus — Bacchus. 

Pandamator — A name of Vulcan, signifying the All-subduing. 

Mnemosyne — Goddess of Memory. 

Chloris — Flora. 

Asclepius — Esculapius. 

Rhamnusia — Name of a statue of Nemesis, goddess of Vengeance ; so 
called because it was in the town of Rhamnus. 

Poly deuces — Pollux. 

Leto — Latona. 

Taraxippus — A deity whose protection was implored at Elis, that no 
harm might happen to the horses. 

Eriunys — The Eumenides, or Furies. 

Naiades — Nymphs of Rivers, Springs, and Fountains. 

Nereides — Nymphs of the Sea. 

Oreades — Nymphs of the Mountains. 

Dryades — Nymphs of the Woods. 

Oromasdes — Persian name for the Principle of Good. 

Mithras — Persian name for the Sun. 

Arimanius — Persian name for the Principle of Evil. 

Odysseus — Ulysses. 

Achilleus — Achilles. 

Cordax — An immodest comic dance. 

Agora — A Market House. 

Prytaneum — The Town House. 


Deigma — A place in the Piraeus, corresponding to the modern Exchange. 
Clepsydra — A Water-dial. 

Cotylce — A measure. Some writers say one third of a quart ; other* 
much less. 

Arytcena — A small cup. 

Arabyllus—A vase, wide at bottom and narrow at top. 

Archons — Chief Magistrates of Athens. 

Prytanes — Magistrates who presided over the Senate. 

Phylarchi — Sheriffs. 

Epistates — Chairman, or speaker. 

Hippodrome — The Horse-course. 

Stadium — Thirty-six and a half rods. 

Obulus, (plural Oboli) — A small coin, about the value of a penny. 

Drachma, (plural Drachmae) — About ten-pence sterling. 

Mina, (plural Mince) — Four pounds, three shillings, four pence. 

Stater — A gold coin ; estimated at about twelve shillings, three pence. 

Daric — A Persian gold coin, valued one pound, twelve shillings, three 

(All the above coins are estimated very differently by different writers.) 

" The midnight procession of the Panathensea." p. 11. 
This festival in honour of Pallas was observed early in the summer, every 
fifth year, with great pomp. 

"The Sacred Peplus." p. 12. 
This was a white garment consecrated to Pallas, on which the actions 
of illustrious men were represented in golden embroidery. 

"Festival of Torches." p. 15. 
In honour' of Prometheus. The prize was bestowed on him who ran the 
course without extinguishing his torch. 

" Six months of seclusion within the walls of the Acropolis, were required of the 

Cancphorse." p. 22. 

Maidens of the first families were selected to embroider the sacred peplus. 
The two principal ones were called Canephorte, because they carried bas- 
kets in the Panathenaic procession. 

" Fountain of Byblis." p. 33. 
This name was derived from a young Ionian, passionately fond of her 
brother Caunus, for whom she wept till she was changed into a fountain, 
near Miletus. 

" During the festivities of the Dionysia." p. 42. 
This festival, in honour of Dionysus, was observed with great splendour. 
Choragic games are supposed to have been celebrated ; in which prizes 
were given to the successful competitors in music, and the drama. 

"The tuneful soul of Mar sy as." p. 43. 
Marsyas was a celebrated musician of Phrygia, generally considered the 
inventor of the flute. 


" Contest between fighting quails." p. 43. 
In Athens, quails were pitched against each other, in the same manner 
as game-cocks among the moderns. 

"Pericles withdrew a rose from the garland." p. 44. 
This flower was sacred to Silence. The ancients often suspended it 
above the table at feasts, to signify that what was said sub rosa was not 
to be repeated. 

"A life-time as long as that conferred upon the namesake of Tithonus." p. 46. 
It is related of him, that he asked and obtained the gift of immortality 
in this world ; but unfortunately forgot to ask for youth and vigour. 

" Eleusinian Mysteries." p. 47. 
Ceremonies at Eleusis, in honour of Demeter, observed with great se- 
cresy. Those who were initiated were supposed to be peculiarly under the 
protection of the gods. 

" Model for the sloping roof of the Odeum." p. 54. 
Pericles was usually represented with a helmet, to cover the deformity 
in his skull. It was jestingly said that the model for the Odeum was from 
his own head. 

" Patriotic song of Callistratus," p. 56. 
Translated from the Greek, by the Rt. Rev. G. W. Doane, Bishog of 
New Jersey. 

" While our rosy fillets shed," &c. p. 57. 
The 43d Ode of Anacreon. This and other extracts from the same 
poet are translated by Thomas Moore, Esq. 

"All ending in ippus and ippides." p. CI. 
Ippus is the Greek for horse. Wealthy Athenians generally belonged 
to the equestrian order; to which the same ideas of honour were attached 
as to the knights, or cavaliers, of modern times. Their names often sig- 
nified some quality of a horse ; as Leucippus, a white horse, &c. 

" Describing her pompous sacrifices to Demeter." p. 64. 
None but Greeks were allowed to enter the temples of this goddess. 

" Urania alone confers the beauty-giving zone." p. 69. 
Urania was the Heavenly Venus, who presided over the pure sentiment 
of love, in distinction from Aphrodite, who presided over the sensual pas- 

" The Pleiades mourning for their lost sister." p. 74. 
One of the stars in the constellation of the Pleiades is said to have dis- 
appeared. They were fabled as seven sisters, and one lost her place in the 
sky by marrying a mortal. 

"More happy than the gods is he." p. 75. 
Second Ode of Sappho, translated by F. Fawkes, Esq. 

" He has clothed the Graces." p. 76. 
Socrates was originally a sculptor. He carved a beautiful group of the 
Graces; said to have been the first that were represented with clothing. 


" Too frugal to buy coloured robes." p. 76. 
The common people in Athens generally bought white garments, for the 
economy of having them dyed when they were defaced. 

"Every human being has, like Socrates, an attendant spirit." p. 89. 
In the Phoedrus of Plato, Socrates is represented as saying, " When I 
was about to cross the river, a demoniacal and usual sign was given me; 
and whenever this takes place, it always prohibits me from accomplishing 
what I was about to do. In the present instance, I seemed to hear a voice, 
which would not suffer me to depart till I had made an expiation ; as if 
I had offended in some particular a divine nature." 

" His statue stands among the Olympionicse." p. 92. 
The victors at the Olympic Games had their statues placed in the groves. 
These statues were called Olympionicae. 

" Count me on the summer trees." p. 98. 
Part of the 14th Ode of Anacreon. 

" As soon would I league myself with Odomantians." p. 112. 
The Odomantians of Thrace, near the river Strymon, had the same 
grasping, avaricious character, attributed to the Jews in modern times. 

" Concealed their frauds amid the flames of the Treasury." p. 113. 
The Treasury in Athens was burned to the ground, by the Treasurers, 
"*dio took that method to avoid being called to account for the money they 
had embezzled. 

" That comes of having the Helots among them." p. 116. 
The freemen of Sparta were forbidden the exercise of any mechanical 
or laborious employment. All these duties devolved upon the Helots ; 
while their masters spent their time in dancing, feasting, hunting, and 

" He approves the law forbidding masters to bestow freedom." p. 117. 
There was a Spartan law forbidding masters to emancipate their slaves. 
About two thousand, who were enfranchised by a public decree, for having 
bravely defended the country during the Peloponessian war, soon after dis- 
appeared suddenly, and were supposed to have been secretly murdered. 

"Whip them, merely to remind tnem of bondage." p. 117. 
The Helots were originally a brave people ; but after they were con- 
quered by the Spartans, no pains were spared to render them servile and 
degraded. Once a year they publicly received a severe flagellation, merely 
to remind them that they were slaves. They were never allowed to learn 
any liberal art, or to sing manly songs. In order to expose them to greater 
contempt, they were often obliged to perform indecent dances, and to get 
brutally drunk, that their master's children might learn to despise such 
uncomely things. 

" Things as trifling as the turning of a shell." p. 120. 
This was an Athenian proverb, applied to things that were done quickly, 
or changed easily. 


" You must indeed wrestle at Cynosarges." p. 120. 
This was a name of Hercules ; and because he was illegitimate, it was 
applied to a place near the Lyceum, where those of half Athenian blood, 
were wont to exercise in gymnastic sports. Themistocles, being partly 
of foreign extraction, induced the young Athenian nobles to go there and 
wrestle with him, that the distinction might be done away. 

" Festival Antkesteria." 120. 
In honour of Dionysus. The best drinker was rewarded with a golden 
crown and a cask of wine ; and none but Athenians were allowed to enter 
the theatre. 

" Which he inscribed Demos." p. 131. 
A phrase signifying the People, or the Democracy. 

" Sing their welcome to Ornithise." p. 134, 
This name was applied to a wind that blew in the spring, at the time 
when the birds began to return. It was a Grecian custom for children to 
go about with garlands from door to door, singing a welcome to the swal- 
lows, and receiving trifling presents in return. 

" The marble sent by Darius.'' p. 136. 
The Persians were so confident of victory that they brought with them 
marble to erect a trophy on the plains of Marathon. From this marble 
Phidias sculptured a statue of Vengeance, which was called Rhamnusia. 

" Filled my pillow with fresh laurel leaves." p. 143. 
Phoebus was supposed to inspire dreams and prophecy ; and the laurel 
which was sacred to him, was supposed to be endowed with similar prop- 

" Like one returned from the cave of Trophonius." p. 147. 
In this cave was a celebrated oracle. Those who entered it always re- 
turned pale and dejected. 

"Psyche bending over the sleeping Eros." p. 150. 
This beautiful fable represents the union of the human soul with immor- 
tal love. Pysche was warned that separation would be the consequence, 
if she looked on the countenance of her divine lover. She gazed on his 
features as he slept ; and was left to sorrow alone. 

" Even the Diasia are no longer observed." p. 154. 
Festivals in honour of Zeus, because ho delivered men from misfortunes 
and dangers. 

" When the Muses and the Charities inhabit the same temple." p. 160. 
Among the Greeks, the Graces were called the Charities. It was a 
beautiful idea thus to deify the moral, rather than the outward graces ; 
and to represent innocent and loving nymphs, forever hand in hand, pre- 
siding over kind and gentle actions. The Graces were often worshipped 
in the same temple with the Muses. 

" Olive garlands suspended on the doors." p. 185. 
This was a common practice during the festival of Thargelia, in honour 
of Phoebus. 


"Gently touched the back part of his head with a small wand." p. 202. 
That the phenomena of animal magnetism were not entirely unknown to 
the ancients, appears by what Clearchus relates of an experiment tried in 
the presence of Aristotle. He speaks of a man who, by means of " a soul- 
attracting wand," let the soul out of a sleeping lad, and left the body insen- 
sible. When the soul was again led into the body, it related all that had 
happened to it. 

" The laws of the country made it impossible to accompany her beloved husband." 

p. 206. 

No woman was allowed to enter Olympia, during the celebration of the 

" Deemed he had fallen by the dart of Phoebus Apollo." p. 203. 
Those who died very suddenly were supposed to have been struck with 
the arrows of Phoebus, or his sister. 

"Its best pleasures are like the gardens of Adonis." p. 213. 
When the annual procession formed to mourn the death of Adonis, earth 
was placed in shells, and lettuce planted in it, in commemoration of Adoni3 
laid out on a bed of lettuces. These shells were called the Gardens of 
Adonis. Their freshness soon withered, on account of the shallowness of 
the earth. 

" Rather gain one prize from the Choragus than ten from the Gymuasiarch." p. 219. 
The first presided over musical and literary competition ; the last over 
athletic games. 

"The statue of Persephone, (that ominous bridal gift.)" p. 226. 
While Persephone was gathering flowers, she was seized by Pluto, and 
carried to the regions of the dead, over which she presided. Hence the 
hair of the deceased was consecrated to her, and her name invoked at 

"3Iilza sneezed aloud." p. 227. 
This was considered a lucky omen ; particularly if the sound came from 
the direction of the right hand. 

" He will trust to Hermes to help him." p. 239. 
Hermes was the god of lies and fraud. 

" Have I told you all my flames." p. 241." 
Part of the 14th ode of Anacreon. 

"Threatened to appeal to the magistrates for another master." p. 250. 
The Athenian slave laws were much more mild than modern codes. If 
a servant complained of being abused, his master had no power to retain 

"Build the wall of Hipparchus." p. 251. 
A wall built round the Academia by Hipparchus was so expensive that 
it became a proverb applied to all costly undertakings. 


" One of the slaves whose modesty Alcibiades had insulted." p. 251. 
Slaves that were either personally abused, or insulted, took refuge in the 
Temple of Theseus, and could not be compelled to return to those of whom 
they complaiaed. 

"These brooks are Creiisa's tears." p. 253. 
Ion was the son of Phoebus and Creusa. His mother, to avoid her 
father's displeasure, concealed the birth of the infant, and hid him in the 
grotto, which afterwards bore her name. The child was preserved, and 
brought up in the temple of Phoebus. 

" She does not speak like one brought up at the gates." p. 254. 
The lower classes of tradesmen were generally placed near the gates. 

'• One of the illustrious Pasargadte." p. 280. 
These were the noblest families in Persia. 

In some unimportant matters, I have not adhered strictly to dates ; 
deeming this an allowable freedom in a work so purely romantic, relating 
to times so ancient. 

I am aware that the Christian spirit is sometimes infused into a Grecian 
form ; and in nothing is this more conspicuous than the representation of 
love as a pure sentiment rather than a gross passion. 

Greek names for the deities were used in preference to the Roman, be- 
cause the latter have become familiarized by common and vulgar use. 

If there be errors in the application of Greek names and phrases, my 
excuse must be an entire want of knowledge in the classic languages. But, 
like the ignoramus in the Old Drama, I can boast, " Though I speak no 
Greek, I love the sound on't." 



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